Pretending
by r4ven3
Summary: This multi-chapter fic begins between Series' 4 and 5, and continues from there. In this story, Adam was not shot by Angela Wells, and so is fit and well. It begins with a non-canon story line, where Adam decides that Harry needs to go undercover, and he needs to pose as a married man. Why? Only Adam knows. Some brief appearances by other S.5 characters.
1. Chapter 1

Adam Carter waits while his suggestion sinks in. His eyes are on Harry, who is staring at him, wide-eyed, his jaw jutting stubbornly.

"You are the obvious choice to go undercover, Harry," he'd just announced, "and you'll need a wife to go with you. Many of the dinners these guys hold are attended by their wives. You don't want to stand out as a single man. That might -"

"I know what it might do, Adam. It might point to me being secret service. But I have no wife, and there's no-one in this room who could fill that role."

Adam notices that Harry is looking around the room, but avoiding eye contact with Ruth …... just as she is avoiding eye contact with everyone, her eyes cast down, her fingers nervously twirling her pen around and around.

"There is someone in this room who could fill the role to perfection."

It's clear to everyone in the room to whom Adam is referring, since there are only two women in the room, and one of them is young enough to be Harry's daughter.

All eyes turn to Ruth.

Ruth stands suddenly, her note pad and pen in one hand, and pushes back her chair so abruptly that it tips over. In her hurry to leave the room, Ruth ignores the chair. No-one attempts to stop her. When Adam takes his eyes from the doorway through which Ruth has just disappeared, he looks at Harry to find his section head glaring at him.

"That was nicely handled, Adam. What do you suggest we do now …. tie her up?"

"I could go and find her and speak to her."

"I suggest we all get back to our prospective work stations. I'll deal with Ruth. If she refuses to play ball, there's not a lot we can do, and I'll have to go undercover alone."

"You could always go as a gay man, Harry," Zaf suggests, a cheeky twinkle in his brown eyes.

"Are you offering to be my partner?"

"No, Harry. I thought maybe …..." and Zaf's words fade as he looks in Malcolm's direction.

"Don't look at me," Malcolm says crossly. "I have enough trouble working here where it's safe. I couldn't possibly -"

"You won't be needed, Malcolm," Harry says wearily. "The work you do here is invaluable. We couldn't do without you. Besides, these men are all ex-army. If any of them are gay, they're no doubt in denial about it. I'm not about to come out to a bunch of strangers who, to all intents and purposes, are hell bent on bringing down the government. I'll find Ruth, and have a talk to her. She requires careful handling."

Harry gets up from his chair, and leaves the meeting room, so that it is not until the door has closed behind him that those still sitting inside look around at one another, and smile.

"Careful _handling_?" Zaf says, keeping his voice low, but allowing a small smirk to colour his features.

"What's going on?" asks Jo, still slightly behind the 8-ball.

"Nothing," Zaf replies, "nothing at all. That's the trouble."

"So …..." Jo says, looking at Adam, "you set this up specifically to get Harry and Ruth together? That's so mean, Adam."

"We need someone to go undercover, and that someone needs to be middle-aged, and preferably to have had a military background. Harry ticks those boxes."

"But a _wife_? He needs a _wife_?"

"It's not absolutely necessary, I know," Adam answers, sitting back in his chair. "I just thought …."

"You didn't think, Adam. That's the trouble," and Malcolm gets up and follows Harry out of the room.

"Nice one, Adam," Zaf says, watching Malcolm leave. "Do you plan to alienate us all, or only most of us?"

"Come on," Adam says, evidently bewildered by the strong reactions of his team. "Just think. It might get them together."

Zaf and Jo get up and leave the meeting room without adding to the conversation.

"Jeez," Adam says to himself. "I was only trying to give them a nudge."

* * *

Immediately Harry left the meeting room, he went in search of Ruth. Finding her not at her desk, nor on the roof, nor in the tea room, he thought he may as well try the ladies toilets. He stands outside the door and knocks, calling Ruth's name.

"Go away," he hears her say, her voice muffled.

"I need to talk to you, Ruth. I'm coming in."

Expecting the door to be locked from the inside, Harry is surprised that when he leans against the door, it opens easily. Ruth is in one of the four cubicles with the door open, and she is sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, a bunch of tissues in her hand. She looks up in surprise as Harry enters the room, and is even more surprised when he crosses the floor, and leans against the door frame of her cubicle, so that he stands less than a yard from where she sits. She moves back on the seat in an attempt to put more distance between them.

"I thought I told you to go away," she says, giving him the evil eye.

"We need to talk," Harry says gently, so gently that Ruth's face registers surprise.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Ruth …..." Harry stands straight, and shoves his hands into his trousers' pockets. Were Ruth to attempt to leave the toilet cubicle, she couldn't, as Harry's bulk blocks the doorway. "I knew I'd have to go undercover this time. I'm the only one with military experience, and I'm about the right age. It would look more …... authentic were I to take a wife with me, and I trust you. I …... think that …... we would work well together. We could be …... believable."

"Was it your idea?"

"What?"

"The choice of who should be your wife."

"No, it was Adam's, but I agree with him. I will be less of a threat to the others as a married man."

"Will we have to …...?"

"Live together? Yes, for a few days to a week …... maybe two."

"I was going to ask you will we have to sleep together?"

"You mean biblically, don't you, Ruth?"

Ruth looks up at him, and nods. Harry notices that her eyes are red-rimmed, as though she has spent the previous fifteen minutes crying.

"No. What we do inside the confines of the safe house will be between you and me. Mostly we'll be working, but when we're in public – on the street, or amongst the ex-soldiers and their wives and partners – we'll have to convince everyone that we're really married."

"So …... we'll have to pretend."

"Yes. That's what going undercover means, Ruth. We'll be pretending that we're married, and that we care for one another."

As he's been speaking, Ruth has been looking downwards, and so he can't see her face. What Harry doesn't know is that Ruth is upset that Harry has intimated that they'll have to pretend to care for one another. Ruth knows that she'll not have to pretend.

Harry is feeling sad because he is already pretending. He is pretending to Ruth that he doesn't care for her, and yet he cares for her rather a lot. Perhaps he already cares for her too much.

"You'll do it?" he asks after a while.

Ruth ignores his question, but gets up, and looks beyond him to the door to the corridor. Harry realises he has lost, so he steps aside, and watches as Ruth leaves, the door wheezing shut ever so slowly, leaving him on his own inside the women's loos. He can handle this operation alone, but given that it's not expected to be dangerous, he'd rather have had company, and as he sees it, Ruth's company would be the best company of all.

Back in his office, Harry takes a call from a section head at MI6, and then makes two calls – one to the DG, and the other to the Home Secretary. They will need to know he'll not be available for up to fourteen days. When he puts the phone back after he's finished his calls, he sees Ruth standing just inside his office door, looking much less distressed than she had forty minutes earlier. He smiles at her, and she returns his smile.

"I'll do it," she says.

Harry nods, and points to the chair opposite his. Ruth sits on the edge of the chair, comfortable, but not exactly relaxed.

"I'm glad," he says, and he means it. "I believe we work well together, Ruth, and this _will_ be work."

"I …... I realised that the experience could be valuable. I think I need to occasionally venture out from behind my desk."

Harry nods, pressing the tips his fingers together in front of him, his eyes on Ruth. "We need to have a trial run. Colin is creating our legends as we speak, and once they're done, I thought we could hit the streets and practise."

"Practise being married? On the streets?"

"Yes. I thought it might be fun."

Ruth shrugs, and her lack of enthusiasm worries Harry, but he's confident that once they're in role, she might even enjoy being his pretend wife. Surely the prospect of being his pretend wife for a week - maybe two - can't be that bad.

Can it?


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, Harry and Ruth are sitting at a table at an outdoor café. Harry orders a latte for Ruth and a cappuccino for himself.

"And we'd like something to eat, as well. Darling?" he says, looking across the table to Ruth, who reddens at the endearment.

"I'll have a blueberry muffin," Ruth says, recovering quickly.

"And I'll have the apple pie," adds Harry, "with cream."

The waitress leaves with their order, and Ruth lifts her eyebrows and smiles at him. She just wishes that the idea of _really_ being married to Harry didn't send her into a state of such turmoil. After all, why would he look twice at her?

"Wasn't that pushing it a bit?" she asks.

"Calling one another by terms of endearment is what we'll have to do, Ruth. It's what married people do."

"I thought it was what courting people did, and once they're married, they no longer have to try so hard."

"I wouldn't have taken you for a cynic, Ruth."

"Well, Will, I suppose I am rather jaded."

"And you haven't even been married to anyone before me."

"You've noticed. I've known enough married people. Love seems to turn to resentment rather quickly."

Harry watches her as she fiddles with the clasp of her bag. Being married to Ruth – even if it is a fake marriage – allows him some simple liberties which are not normally his to take.

"What should I call you? Apart from Will. What did your ex-wife call you?"

"Mostly she called me a cheating bastard, and she was right. But when we were first married, she used to call me Harry."

"Is that all?"

Harry nods. "We never got into the habit of using endearments. I once called her pumpkin, and she refused to speak to me for 48 hours. She thought I was criticising her for putting on weight. It was just after my son was born."

Ruth doesn't know what to say to that. Other than the time his daughter had been caught up with the November Committee, Ruth has never heard Harry mention his children or his former wife. His small story about his former marriage has made him seem softer, perhaps more vulnerable, neither adjective being ones Ruth would have assigned to Harry. Perhaps his story just made him more human …... that is, if the story is even true. Harry has been a spy for a long time. Lies fall from his lips with ease.

"What would you like to be called, Will? I'm afraid I'll forget to call you Will, and then we'll be sprung. Were I to use an endearment, it might be easier."

"So long as you refrain from using it when we're at work, then I rather like being called honey."

"You do?"

He nods, smiling.

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. It has a smooth and sweet feel to it, without being saccharine."

Ruth breaks eye contact with him, and looks down, smiling. "What about sweetie?" she suggests.

Harry grimaces. "I used to call my daughter sweetie. I'm not sure I could cope with it were you to call me that."

Their coffee is brought to their table, and a few minutes later, their food arrives. Ruth watches Harry – her pretend husband – as he charms the waitress with a wide smile and direct eye contact. She sees the gold band on his ring finger, and privately feels pleased that this ring means that he is pretending to be married to her …... just as the matching band on her finger is testament to her one to two week commitment to him. Against her wishes, Ruth is beginning to enjoy herself.

"Do you remember our honeymoon, Ruth?"

"The week we spent in the Lake District? It was lovely, but only after I recovered from an attack of gastro."

"You blamed it on the shrimp."

"Yes, and you were sure it was the extra bottle of champagne we had at dinner."

"We stayed an extra night to make up for it."

"And how did we meet?" Ruth asks him, smiling across her muffin at him.

"At a book club meeting which you held at your house. One of the members contacted me, and suggested the club invite me to speak about my blog. We couldn't take our eyes off one another."

"And it appeared to almost everyone present that you'd forgotten almost everything about setting up your blog, and even why you began it in the first place. At the end of the meeting, everyone went home except you."

"And I never left."

Ruth smiles across the table at Harry …... who is to be Will for the next week or more. William and Ruth Garside. They have been married for a little over two years. It is her first marriage, and his second. His first wife left him while he was still in the army. He is Captain Garside, retired, formerly of the Royal Artillery, and he served (very briefly) in the Falklands War. Colin has created the legend for Will, and has temporarily altered online military records to back up the legend. Will's post-military career as a journalist is supported by a website, and a blog. It is Ruth who has done most of the blogging. She just hadn't known that she'd be involved in the operation in a more personal way.

After they've finished their coffee and cakes, they leave the coffee shop, and head down the street. As they walk along the pavement, Harry grasps her hand in his, and hooks it into his arm. They exchange a quick look, and he sees a smile begin to form around Ruth's mouth. They could be any married couple, enjoying an hour in one another's company before they head back to work.

* * *

"This is a safe house?" Ruth asks, as she struggles through the front door with her suitcase. The house seems comfortable, and the furnishings appear to be new. Ruth hadn't expected any more than a very basic council flat, but this is a roomy apartment in a large Victorian villa.

"This is the closest MI5 safe house to the Carlyon Hotel, and it's also the most presentable safe house we have, so I demanded it be our home away from home."

Ruth leaves her suitcase in the living room, and walks through the house, checking out all the rooms, while Harry heads to the kitchen to make them a pot of tea. He hears her climb the stairs, and then within a few short minutes, he hears her heading downstairs, and into the kitchen.

"Was this your idea?" Ruth says, her voice raised, her tone accusatory.

"Was what my idea?"

"Come and see," and Harry follows Ruth upstairs.

She shows him the main bedroom, where a rather large bed fills much of the floor space, and then into the upstairs bathroom – in which they find a bath, a shower, a toilet, and a hand basin. It is in the second bedroom that Harry is met with a surprise. There is a laptop open on a desk, and along with the desk there are two large book shelves, and three chairs. There is also a small writing desk under the window. But no bed.

"Did you know about this?"

"No, Ruth. I didn't. Last time I was inside this house, there was a single bed in here. I'd planned to sleep in it, while you take the big bed."

All the time he's been speaking, Ruth has been watching him. She is satisfied that he hadn't planned this. It hasn't been his idea. He feels equally as awkward as she.

"I imagine that it was thought that an office is more important to us than a second bedroom. I can sleep downstairs if you like, Ruth."

"No. No, I don't want you sleeping downstairs. That's not fair. You're the one who'll be heading into the unknown, and so you'll need plenty of rest." Ruth thinks for a while, and then her decision is made. "We can both sleep in that big bed. I'm sure we can be adult about it."

"I'm sure we can, Ruth."

And so the decision is made, although Harry is not so sure that it's a good idea. He has already spent sleepless nights at home in his own bed, thinking about Ruth, wondering whether he should let her know how it is he feels about her. The prospect of lying in bed next to her, listening to her breathing softly as she sleeps, is all at once a joy and a source of dread.

How to walk that fine line between pretend partner and real life lover? He knows which one he'd rather be.


	3. Chapter 3

The house is well stocked with food, drinks and snacks, so they have no need to visit the shops. They unpack their things, storing everything in drawers and the large wardrobe in the bedroom. They make dinner together, and then eat it together at the small round dining table, and then they clean up together.

"I have to go online," Ruth says, leaving Harry to wipe down the table and the sink. "Colin promised to link me to a number of other blogs, and he'll need me to cross check the identities of those who leave messages."

"Right," he says, recognising that it is fast approaching bedtime, and their first night together – as a married couple – has potential for difficulty. Harry knows that it will be up to him to keep things running smoothly, and to ensure Ruth doesn't pack her bags and leave.

_Christ! This really is like being married. _ How many times had he needed to watch his words and his step with Jane, just to ensure she'd not pack up herself and the kids, and leave him? Obviously he hadn't watched them carefully enough, otherwise they'd still be married.

Or …... would they?

And were he still married now, where would Ruth fit into the picture? Would he be attracted to Ruth were he still with Jane? He has no doubt that he would be. Ruth is like no other woman he has ever met. She transcends all the Janes and Juliets, and all the other – now faceless – women to whom he'd been attracted in the past. He likes to think of them as The Beautiful Women. It's just that Ruth has raised the bar on beauty. She is beautiful from the inside out.

He is still absently wiping a cloth over the draining board of the sink, his mind fully occupied with thoughts of Ruth, when she enters the kitchen. Harry jumps a little as he feels her hand on his back.

"Are you alright, Will?"

Harry turns to look at her, and it takes all his self control to not lean down and kiss her. He knows he is looking at her lips, and it is clear that Ruth is aware of this. Harry gives himself an internal shake and a slap, and smiles into Ruth's eyes.

"I suppose I must be tired," he says, not even convincing himself.

Ruth removes her hand from his back, and he sighs heavily. "You can have first shower," she says. "Unless you want to shower in the morning."

He turns away from her to place the cloth over the dish drainer. "I'll …. I'll shower now," he manages to say.

"That's good, because I have something to show you."

Ruth leaves the kitchen and heads back upstairs, while Harry struggles to control his private thoughts and images. He'd always believed that if anyone were to stumble during this assignment, it would be Ruth. He hadn't expected this. As he wipes his hands on a tea towel, he contemplates what it is Ruth may be about to show him.

What is he thinking? Of course it will be something related to work. She's hardly likely to walk in to show him something while he's in the shower, is she?

* * *

Harry has showered, and changed into pyjamas, slippers and a bathrobe. When he enters the office, it is clear Ruth is engrossed in working on the laptop. He stands behind her, and then leans over her shoulder, placing his hand on the desk beside her. Ruth quickly turns, and smiles up into his face, but Harry's eyes are on the screen.

"What have you found?"

"There are a number of new comments to your latest entry on your blog."

"Your blog, Ruth. You're the one who has created it."

"Then you'd better read what I've written in the past few days, just in case someone asks you about it."

"Someone?"

"When you meet this group of men."

"And when will that be, Ruth?"

"One of them – Andrew Sullivan – has invited us to their monthly dinner at the Carylon this Friday night."

"Both of us?"

"He says it's for members and wives and partners, so yes, both of us."

Harry is relieved and a little nervous also. In testing their `marriage' in public, he is going to have to suppress any feelings he has for Ruth, and simply act the part. Feeling something for Ruth should make the job easier, but it doesn't. It just adds a level of complication – something more he will need to transcend in order for their relationship to appear believable. It's not as if Ruth cares for him, is it? Were she to, there'd be no need for faking it.

"I'll have my shower while you read," Ruth says, rising from the chair, and indicating he should sit down.

* * *

Ruth doesn't spend long in the shower, and when she enters the office, she also is dressed in pyjamas, slippers and a bathrobe. She feels rather self conscious entering an enclosed space, with she and Harry both dressed for bed. She stands beside him, watching him reply to a message on his blog. To her, he appears to have difficulty in hitting the right keys. On looking at his face, Ruth notices him squinting.

"Will," she says, "do you need reading glasses?"

"I have them."

"Then where are they?"

"I hadn't wanted to wear them …..."

"Tell me where they are, and I'll get them."

"They're in my bag. In the pocket on the outside."

Ruth has already left the room, and she finds his glasses easily, and brings them into him in the office, where he opens the case, and puts them on.

"Why don't you wear them at work?"

He looks up at her over the top of the silver rims of his glasses. "I guess it's pride. I don't want to ….."

"... admit to your much younger team that you're getting on a bit."

"Something like that, although `getting on a bit' is a phrase my father might have used."

Ruth notices the personal reference made by Harry, and files it away. "I think they look rather nice on you," she says with a smile.

"Really?"

"Really." Ruth resists the quite considerable urge to touch Harry. She is struggling between touching his arm, and stroking his cheek. It is too early in the operation for such a gesture. "I'm wondering how you're planning to spend your time between now and the dinner on Friday night."

"I've been thinking the same thing. We should have ordered two laptops, Ruth."

"Maybe I'll suggest that to Colin. It can always be delivered, or maybe one of us can pick it up."

"I think the idea of being undercover is that we don't break cover. What about you? What are you planning for the next three days?"

"I'll have to write some more articles, but before I do that, I need to interview a couple of Falklands veterans. They are rather keen to tell their stories."

"So …..." Harry says, again looking up at Ruth, "pretend life is becoming blurred with real life."

"Mmmm," she says, gazing at him for perhaps a moment too long. "You know, I don't think these veterans from the Gulf War will care whether you were in the Falklands or not. They want someone to tell their side of things, and they prefer that someone to be one of them. Besides, Captain Will Garside only spent ten days in active service in the Falklands."

"Before I was shot by a sniper. I never thought I'd reach the day when I'd be thankful for Tom Quinn shooting me."

"Surely these men won't be expecting you to provide evidence that you were shot."

"No, Ruth, but an actual bullet wound adds authenticity, even if no-one but me ever sees it."

They exchange a look which can only be interpreted in one way. Is it possible that over the next few days, someone else may get to see his bullet wound? Harry breaks eye contact with Ruth, looking away, suppressing a smile.

_She was contemplating seeing my bullet wound …... I'm sure of it._

* * *

Ruth is the first to head off to bed, while Harry visits the bathroom. He needs to pee, but more than that, he needs to give Ruth some privacy while she gets into bed.

When he enters the bedroom, Ruth is already in bed, and is sitting up, her back against against her pillow, reading. The lamp on her side of the bed is the only light in the room. Harry crosses the room to close the curtains, and then he removes his bathrobe, kicks off his slippers, and climbs into bed. The bed is large enough for them to lie comfortably without having to touch one another. Harry notices that Ruth keeps her eyes on her book while he gets into bed. They are each being _so damned polite. _He wants to look at her – scrutinise her – but he daren't. Ruth requires `careful handling'.

"Do you want the light off?" Ruth asks, looking down at his head on the pillow (and silently wondering where this will all end.)

"No, Ruth. When I'm tired enough, I can fall asleep standing up. Feel free to keep reading. If you don't mind, I'll turn my back on you and try to get to sleep."

"Goodnight, Will."

Harry turns back slightly, so that he can see Ruth over his shoulder. "Ruth, while we're alone, why don't you call me Harry?"

"I don't think that's a good idea. I know you're an old hand at this, but I'm not. Once this operation is over, I'll call you Harry, but not before."

"Alright," Harry smiles at her. "Goodnight, Ruth."

Harry again turns on his side, and closes his eyes. It is quite dark on his side of the bed, but it is not the light which is keeping him awake. It is the knowledge that Ruth is lying next to him in bed. It is her smell – soap, shower gel, skin cream – an intoxicating scent that promises to drive him mad. He'd thought that bringing Ruth with him undercover would be easy. She's clever, competent, discreet, intuitive, sensitive, along with a whole lot of other qualities he daren't even think about.

Harry normally enjoys going undercover. It's the unknown factor …... the challenge ….. the adrenalin rush when just one wrong word or gesture can lead to disaster. Not any more. This is a new kind of challenge, and he's not sure that he's up to it.

"Will …..." Ruth's voice is quiet, but Harry hears it like she's shouted at him.

"Yes?"

"What do these men want with you? Do you think it's just someone to tell their story?"

"I don't know the answer to that, Ruth. I suspect they want me to tell their version of events, just as the blog you're writing as William Garside is exposing truths about the Falklands War …... things which the public hasn't been told. The way our soldiers were sent in unprepared. Will Garside is a journalist. I suspect they're simply looking for a voice, someone to tell their story."

"I ….. I'm afraid that you might be stepping into danger," Ruth says, her voice still very quiet. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

"I don't want anything bad to happen to me, either, but I still have to find out what these men are up to, and why three of the group have recently purchased digital timing devices, and another three are suddenly buying furniture from the Netherlands."

"If they are about to perform a terrorist attack on government buildings -"

"Which may include Thames House."

"Then …... won't it be too dangerous for you to show your face? What if even one of them knows who you are?"

"I don't expect that to happen. I only became section head after they all retired from the army, and besides, I keep my profile very low for this very purpose."

"We have to work out a contingency procedure …... for if the unexpected happens."

Harry turns to face Ruth, and watches her carefully. Her brows are knitted, a worried expression on her face. This is something else he is not accustomed to. It is a long time since he's had a woman worrying about his safety. He doesn't enjoy being limited by the fears of others, but he has to admit to himself that he is enjoying Ruth's concern for him. If he didn't know better, he could believe that she cares for him. But that's just ridiculous …... isn't it?

"We have ample time for that, Ruth."

Ruth nods, but she looks unconvinced. She closes her book, and places it on the bedside table, and then turns out the light. "Goodnight, Harry," she says.

"Goodnight, Ruth." Harry smiles at her slip of the tongue, and rolls back on to his side, away from her.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Thank you to all who are reading this, and to the reviewers. This is now a story in 13 chapters.**_

* * *

When Harry wakes it is already daylight outside. Surprisingly, he has slept deeply, and feels rested. He turns over very carefully to see that Ruth is still sleeping. As much as he longs to simply lie in bed watching her, such an indulgence is dangerous, as well as irresponsible. Very quietly he climbs out of bed, and grabbing fresh clothes for the day, he heads to the bathroom to change. He has just finished eating his breakfast, and is about to clean up, when he hears movement upstairs. He boils the kettle to make a fresh pot of tea, and then waits for Ruth to come downstairs. It is another fifteen minutes before she joins him. She enters the kitchen wearing a pair of blue jeans, boots, a maroon shirt, and a navy blue cardigan, her hair held back in a ponytail. She looks fresh and new and very young. By comparison, Harry feels very old.

"Cereal, Ruth?" Harry asks, trying to not look at her too closely, for fear she'll read in his eyes what he is trying so hard to hide.

"No thanks. Just a couple of pieces of toast. I find breakfast a necessary, but boring meal."

Harry slips two slices of bread in the toaster, and then pours a cup of tea for Ruth, and another cup for himself. They both add sugar and milk to their tastes. When the toast pops up, Harry again gets up to put the toast on a plate for Ruth.

"You don't have to wait on me, Will. I can look after myself."

"I know you can." He smiles as he hands the plate to Ruth. "I like looking after you."

This is a new side to Harry, and Ruth doesn't quite know what to make of it. Harry is tough, and he's a leader. He cares for his team, and he leads by example. The level of caring he has displayed towards her since they have been in the safe house is far beyond what she had expected, and almost beyond what she can imagine. She is seeing sides to Harry she hadn't known even existed.

"What are you planning to do this morning, Will?" Ruth is munching on her second slice of toast, while Harry sips his third cup of tea.

"I haven't anything planned. I thought I'd see what you're up to. Keep in the loop. That sort of thing."

"I could use your help." Ruth concentrates on tearing the slice of toast into two equal pieces while she thinks about how to broach her next question. "I have to ask you something."

"Fire away."

"Why are we in this safe house? As I see it, we don't really need to be here. We could be spending our days at Thames House, working, and from there, head off to meetings and dinners. It's not as though we'll be inviting any of these people around for dinner."

Harry takes his time answering. He has wondered the same thing. He knows that Adam had planned for the undercover agents to live in a safe house for the duration, and had thought nothing of it …... but that was when he believed that maybe Adam would volunteer for the op himself.

"Do you think ….." Ruth says, almost to herself, "that we are being …... thrown together?"

"I honestly don't know, Ruth." He does know. He is sure that her suspicions are correct. If so, he thanks everyone concerned …... but how to explain this to Ruth without her becoming upset? "I'm sure that if that's true, then it's well meaning."

"That's not at all like you."

"Meaning?"

"I'd have expected you to be angry, and to threaten Adam with a demotion …... or something similar."

Harry smiles across the table at her. He doesn't feel angry, nor does he want to be angry. Anger can be so draining, and besides, in the few hours he's been living with Ruth in this house, he's experienced a level of contentment he's not felt in decades. He doesn't feel like shouting, or sulking, or pouting, or any of the behaviour he reserves for when he is throwing his weight around on the Grid. "I'm not complaining, Ruth. Are you?"

"No." Ruth looks down, and concentrates on picking up breadcrumbs from her plate with the tip of her finger.

Harry watches her, enjoying the domesticity. In his imagination, for these few days, he and Ruth _are_ married. _You know something, Pearce? You've gone soft._

Harry doesn't care. Not one little bit.

* * *

After breakfast, Harry checks the blog Ruth has created, and sees that Ruth has an appointment with two Falklands veterans at two o'clock at a pub in north London.

"Are they expecting a woman?"

"I hope so. I've signed all my emails as Ruth Garside. I think they know what to expect."

"You're not going alone."

"I have to meet them alone, Will, but if they agree, I'll ring you, and you can join us."

Harry is not happy, but Ruth is digging in her heels, and he knows better than to push her when she is this determined.

Ruth meets the two men in the beer garden of the hotel, while Harry waits in a lunch bar just around the corner. Both men are only a few years older than she.

"I'm Steve," says the taller of the two, "and this is Gordon."

"I'm Ruth Garside, and I have to ask you whether you'd be happy to speak to my husband and I. We're both involved in writing his blog. I'd feel more comfortable were he here with me."

The men agree, and ten minutes later, Harry joins them in the beer garden. Both men have a lot to say, and Ruth takes notes. Harry sits beside Ruth, keeping an eye on things. Occasionally he speaks up, but mostly, he leaves the interviewing to Ruth.

Just before four o'clock, Harry and Ruth leave the veterans in the pub, and walk to the nearest tube station.

"Why are we not taking a taxi, Ruth?"

"I like the train."

Harry has no comeback to that, so he accompanies her on to the train, sitting close enough to her that their knees touch, and then on to a connecting bus, after which they walk the last half a mile to the safe house.

"What will you do with the information you gathered today, Ruth?" Harry asks as they turn down an alleyway connecting the bus route with their street. It is rather a long and dark alleyway, and so Harry slides an arm around Ruth's waist, all the time keeping one eye on any windows which may reflect the presence of a tail. When Ruth doesn't object to his arm being around her, he relaxes just a little. What he doesn't know is that Ruth feels his arm slide around her, and she feels just that much safer when they walk in this way.

"I'll do exactly as I promised them, and write up a report, anonymising them, and then upload it to the blog. It can be today's entry."

"And your reason for doing that?" As they walk, he watches her face in profile, enjoying the freedom he has to be watching her at all.

"I would have thought that to be obvious, Will. I'm trying to flush out Gulf War veterans."

"Just checking, Ruth."

They both smile as they continue down the alleyway towards their street.

* * *

After dinner, Ruth writes a report of her meeting with Steve and Gordon, and uploads it to the blog, while Harry sits beside her.

"They're the tip of an iceberg, Ruth."

"I know. It's not so much what happened to them, as how little support and access to services they're allowed in the long term. Before you joined us in the beer garden, Gordon told me that he's having difficulty surviving on the benefits he's being paid, and the NHS doesn't cover all his medical needs, and as a result, he's getting deeper into debt." Ruth turns to look at Harry, sitting close beside her. "Do you think that if enough of these veterans got together that they would be capable of terrorism? After all, they fought for this country."

"I think, given years of frustration and government red tape, that is highly likely, Ruth. That's the reason we're here, undercover. Some of them, and we don't yet know who these people are, have plans for at least one act of terrorism, and it's likely to be something which will make us all sit up and pay attention."

"So, they'd prefer prison to freedom?"

"At least in prison – as a political prisoner – they'd get three square meals, and medical support."

"That's absurd."

"It is, Ruth, but then, life is often absurd."

They repeat the same pattern of preparing for bed as they'd done the previous night, only this time, Harry is first in bed, and Ruth follows him after her shower. They lay side by side in silence for some minutes.

"You know, I hadn't thought I'd ever say this, but I'm rather enjoying myself."

"Me, too," Harry says. Only he knows that he is enjoying himself immensely. Being married to Ruth, even without the benefit of sex, is still hugely satisfying, far more satisfying than watching her at a distance through his office window.

Both are lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling. Both are highly aware of the warm body in the bed beside them. Both would like to take their association to a new level. Neither is prepared to risk the delicate balance they have achieved in just a little more than a day, by making a suggestion which may be deemed inappropriate.

So it is with a measurable thrill that Harry hears Ruth take a deep breath before she speaks.

"Will …... I'm going to ask you something, and you are free to say absolutely not …... if that's what you want."

"Ask away." _Please, Ruth. The answer will always be an absolute and unconditional yes! _

"How would you feel if I listened in on your meeting with the men only? You could use your -"

"My phone, yes. I know that Colin has set up our phones to both track us, and to record conversations, should we want that."

"And?" _Why is he so snippy all of a sudden? Was it something I said?_

"That's fine, Ruth. I'm expecting someone at the Grid to listen in, and it would help were you listening, also."

"Good. Good."

Ruth risks a glance at Harry, and his face is turned towards her, his expression set in his Grid Face, his Section Head Face.

_What just happened? _ Ruth has no idea.

"Goodnight," she says.

"Goodnight, Ruth," he replies.

Ruth feels the bed move as Harry turns on his side, facing away from her.


	5. Chapter 5

The next two days pass quickly, as they develop a routine of working in the morning, and taking a walk together in the afternoon. They walk for at least an hour, and at the halfway mark, they find a café, and buy a coffee and a bite to eat. This is when they discuss the operation – the feeds from Colin, the messages on the blog, and Harry's strategy for meeting the group of Gulf War veterans. They are becoming comfortable in one another's presence. Sometimes they hold hands while they walk, and if not, Harry likes to walk with Ruth's hand resting in the crook of his elbow. He tells himself that it helps him to remain in role. Ruth tells herself that it will help them play the part at the dinner they are about to attend. They both know there is more to it than that. They are beginning to rely on one another, and to think of the other as an essential part of their life. They are beginning to view themselves as a couple. Neither would admit to this under questioning, but they are beginning to admit it to themselves, just not to each other …... although the time for that is fast approaching.

It is on Friday afternoon that they discover a park – complete with duck pond, a wooden bridge spanning the pond, and a handful of children's swings. The park is just off a main road, hidden behind sheltering shrubs and trees. They exchange a look, and Ruth nods. They find a bench under a tree, and sit, not touching, pretending to watch a boy of about three, as he runs across the bridge and back, while his mother attempts to coax him back to her so that she can take him home.

"I'm enjoying …... this," Harry ventures.

"Mmm ….. me too."

"Our jobs don't give us enough time for …... what's the word, Ruth?"

"Contemplation?"

"Yes, there's that. I was thinking more of time out …... time away from the rush, time for relaxation."

"But you love the rush, Harry."

He leans close to her, and whispers, "You called me Harry."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. No-one's listening."

"Other than you."

"Oh, I'm always listening, Ruth."

Ruth turns towards him, and smiles. Harry notices her eyes on his mouth. He turns away from her, and goes back to watching the child and his mother. As he sees it, the child is still winning. The little boy reminds him of his son at the same age. He considers sharing this with Ruth, but to do so is far too dangerous …... perhaps even more dangerous than the possibility of meeting men who want to bring about destruction and general mayhem. His sigh is audible.

"I've contacted Colin and Malcolm about activating our phones so that they can provide an audio feed," Ruth continues, staring ahead of her, attempting to change the mood. "Colin has also set up some miniature cameras in a couple of pens, and they'll be couriered over at five o'clock today." Ruth stares ahead of her as she speaks.

"Cameras in pens?" Technology has never been Harry's forte, and he has always struggled to keep up with technological changes.

"One for each of us. They can be used as ordinary pens, but they each have a camera in the top. I thought it might be an easy way of helping to identify these people, since I don't imagine they'll give us their real names."

"I'll leave the filming to you, Ruth."

"If you say so."

Harry turns towards her, his eyebrows creased, the beginning of a smile on his face. Ruth allows her eyes to glide over his features. If he thinks she's being forward, then so be it.

"_Hugo! Come here at once!_"

The moment is broken by the mother calling her little boy to order. He stands on the middle of the bridge, half way over the pond, and jumps up and down on the spot.

"If he falls in, don't expect me to save him."

"Will! That's unkind."

"Do you know, Ruth …... he may be a terrorist in the making."

"Or another Mozart or John Donne. He may even become a philosopher, or a religious leader."

"Or a fanatic. He already has the makings of a fanatic …... a strong and focused will, irrational determination to put all his energy behind a cause."

"You've just described almost every three-year-old on the planet." Ruth concentrates on Harry's face. "You've seen too much. You can no longer see the inherent good in people."

Harry turns to face Ruth, leaning closer to her. "Oh, but I can, Ruth." His implication is clear.

Ruth blushes and looks away. "Probably time we moved on," she says, getting up, and smoothing her skirt.

* * *

Harry is already dressed in black slacks and jacket over a white, open-necked shirt, when Ruth comes down the stairs and into the living room. He tries to not look at her too closely, or for too long, but fails miserably. Ruth is dressed in a just-below-knee-length, body-hugging black dress, which falls from her hips in folds. Her jewelry is equally simple and elegant – a silver pendant, and small silver earrings. Her hair is down, and sits on her shoulders.

"We match," he says, having nothing else he'd be brave eough to say aloud.

"We do," Ruth replies, holding his gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

They leave early, walking a winding an indirect route to the nearest taxi rank. Harry gets the driver to drop them off in Ilford, two blocks from the Carlyon, and they walk the rest of the way, arriving at the hotel at a few minutes after 7.30. They are heading down a corridor to the private room at the back of the hotel, when Harry stops suddenly, and places his arm around Ruth's waist, drawing her close to him.

"What are you doing?" Ruth asks.

"Laying claim."

Ruth smiles, as he leads her to the door, behind which are a group of people about which they know very little. Through close contact with Harry's body, she can detect his nervousness.

"Are you alright?" she asks, surprised that there would be anything on earth which bothers Harry.

"I'm just worried about you. I don't like dragging you into this."

"It might surprise you that I can handle myself …... Will." Ruth looks up into his face and smiles.

"I'm glad to hear it," Harry says, before he opens the door in front of them.

Despite his misgivings, Harry leads Ruth into the room, and there they see around fifteen couples, standing around a bar in the corner of the room, enjoying pre-dinner drinks.

A tall man with a shock of red hair breaks from the group, and crosses the room. "Mr and Mrs Garside? Welcome to our little gathering."

Ruth breathes out and smiles at the man. She'd been about to suggest to Harry that they leave and have dinner somewhere quiet, just the two of them, but the man's face is open and welcoming, and she likes him immediately.

"I'm Nick Hancock," the man says, "and I'm so glad you're here. We were worried you'd changed your minds." He looks around at the others, only one of whom has noticed their entrance. "This is my wife, Nikki. Nikki, this is …..."

"Sorry …... I'm Will, and this is my wife, Ruth."

Harry shakes hands with Nick, and Ruth with Nikki, and then they swap.

Despite the awkward beginning, meeting the rest of the group is smooth, and everyone appears friendly... and healthy. Ruth mentions this to Nikki.

"Don't believe all you see," Nikki says quietly. "All of the men here have measurable post traumatic stress disorder, four of them have cancer, and most are on a cocktail of drugs to suppress the symptoms created by the drugs they were given prior to being deployed to the Gulf. Each one of them has had their health seriously compromised."

"Did you know Nick when he was sent to the Falklands?" Ruth asks, realising that interviewing these people was going to be rather easy, hungry as they seem for someone to listen to them. Ruth has already removed her pen from her bag, making sure that as she takes notes, she moves the top of the pen in such a way that she can capture the faces of all those present. Her notes are chiefly a list of names of the people attending the dinner.

"Of course. We grew up in the same village, not all that far from here. We've known one another all our lives."

"So …... did you notice the changes in him once he came back from the Gulf?"

"I noticed the changes in him before he even left."

"Before?"

"All men who went to the Persian Gulf were injected with a massive amount of what they were told were necessary immunisations. We're still to get an honest answer from the MoD. They still claim that the soldiers were given new and experimental forms of immunisation against a myriad of diseases, and all were proven safe, but I know that's just spin. Everyone inside this room knows that's not the truth. These men's behaviour changed before they even left Britain, but when they got back …... you wouldn't believe some of what I've heard." Nikki looks around the room, to ensure she won't be overheard. "There's a woman in this room – not me – who sleeps each night with a knife under her pillow. She wants to be prepared for the next time her husband wakes in the middle of the night, and tries to strangle her. Most of the time he's a nice man – pleasant, kind, good husband and father. It's only when he dreams of being back there. She's not so much worried for herself as she is for her children."

"But do your doctors know about this?"

"Of course. But their hands are tied. Some doctors have been threatened with losing their license if they speak out. Most of the men in this room, including my Nick, are so heavily medicated that they rattle when they move. We wives have to work, bring up the children, pay the bills, cook, clean, and on top of that, the heavy medication has left our men impotent. Nick and I haven't managed to have a normal sex life for the last eight years."

Ruth's look of shock has Nikki smiling.

"Yes, it's the enforced abstinence which shocks most people. This is why we need someone to tell our story. Our men are incapable, and we – the women – are just too busy." She gives a little laugh. "And I haven't even mentioned the suicides and the murder-suicides. We're not meant to talk about them."

"How many?"

Nikki shrugs. "I have no idea. At least a dozen that I know of." She looks at Ruth's face, and smiles apologetically. "Sorry, I hadn't meant to bring the mood down."

Ruth looks around the room for Harry. He is deep in conversation with two men, but sensing something, he looks up, and their eyes meet across the room, and they exchange a warm smile.

"Have you been married long?" Nikki asks.

"Just over two years."

"I thought as much. I've noticed your husband watching you across the room. He seems nice."

"He is. He's …... rather lovely."

Ruth is finding it easy being undercover. She hasn't had to lie once …... apart from the being married part, but that's only a white lie.

* * *

Ruth and Harry leave the dinner early, and walk to a cafe they'd passed on the way from the taxi to the hotel. "We need to compare notes," Harry had said.

They are sitting silently over a coffee when Harry reaches across the table and places his hand over her own. Ruth looks up in surprise. Harry's expression is rather intense, his pupils dilated, his mouth soft.

"Will?"

"Thank you for tonight, Ruth. You were wonderful."

"I ….. I just -"

"No, don't diminish your role. I saw you with that pen. I couldn't have carried that off the way you did."

"I think I managed to snap them all. And I took names. They're all here -" she pats the outside of her bag, "in my notebook."

Harry smiles at last, and sits back, removing his hand from hers. Ruth experiences a moment of disappointment.

"And I made contact, too," he says at last.

"Tell me."

"Nick was quite forthcoming. He belonged to the splinter group – his term, not mine – for a time, until he discovered what they were planning. They've been talking about taking action for around three years, but since a man called Pablo joined the group, they have gained much needed focus, and Nick declined to be involved. It seems that they don't much care who knows what they have planned."

"Which is?"

"To blow up Whitehall."

* * *

_**A/N: Whilst the medical conditions I describe here have been well documented – and now referred to as Gulf War Syndrome – I have added a few bits of my own.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Entering M-ish territory.**_

* * *

They take a direct route home, but Harry asks the taxi driver to drop them off a block from the safe house. He takes Ruth's hand, and leads her down an alleyway, and then through a gate in a back fence, across the back yard of another large house similar to their own, and into the back yard of their own building. Harry unlocks a back door, and they follow a passageway to the front of the house. From there, they arrive at their own front door.

"How did you know where you were going?" Ruth asks, once they are inside.

"Research."

"By whom?"

Harry looks sheepish, but answers truthfully. "Colin."

"Thank God for Colin. Speaking of Colin, I need to upload these photos, so that he can check them when he arrives at Thames House in the morning."

"I'll have first shower, then," Harry replies, but Ruth is already part way up the stairs, on her way to the office.

Harry sighs. He knows this is work, but he has enjoyed being Ruth's husband for the evening. Perhaps enjoyed is not the correct verb. Relished might be closer to the warm, possessive feeling he'd had all night. He'd relished being able to watch her openly across the room. He'd relished being able to touch her, knowing she'd not pull away. He'd relished placing his mouth close to her ear while he whispered something to her about a conversation he'd just had.

It had been a wonderful night, and now they're back at work.

* * *

Harry is sitting at the laptop, checking through the pictures Ruth has uploaded. Some are not terribly clear, but are good enough for face recognition, should Colin have to use it. He smells Ruth's presence in the room before he sees or hears her. He looks up over the top of his reading glasses as she sits in the chair beside his own. She is dressed in her pyjamas and dressing gown, her face scrubbed of makeup, the ends of her hair wet from the shower. He wants to ask her why it is she thinks she needs makeup, when he finds her to be so beautiful without it.

"Did you find my uploads?" she asks, and he nods, still staring at her. "Is anything wrong?" she asks.

"No, Ruth. Everything is perfect the way it is." He smiles, and then drops his eyes to the monitor.

Ruth knows what is happening here, in this upstairs second bedroom which is now an office, rather late on a Friday night. This is more than Harry flirting. This is Harry coming on to her. If she's being honest with herself, she rather enjoys his undivided attention, and in a place deep in her body, she would like him to take his flirting further. Much further. These last few days have shown her another side of Harry, the softer, personal side of him, and she is tempted to get even closer to him. There is far more to Harry than she'd ever imagined.

But business first.

"There's a message on the blog from Pablo, which I think you should read."

Harry opens the tab for the blog, and scrolls through the messages. Most are supportive, while a few are abusive. The internet is crawling with crazy people. He reads Pablo's message – a private message, and so not visible to other visitors to the blog.

"Will you go?" Ruth asks at last.

"I'll have to, Ruth. This might be the only chance I get."

"But …... can you promise me that you'll just gather information, and then leave? You need to find out where these men are storing the explosives. And most important of all, you have to keep the voice-recording device on from the moment you get there. Colin and Malcolm won't be the only ones listening in."

Harry nods, enjoying her attention, her worrying.

"You have less than twenty-four hours to prepare."

"There's not a lot of preparation to be done. I'll have to check out the address, and work out how to get there. Plus, I have to familiarise myself with the surrounding buildings, should I need to get away in a hurry."

"You'll need a car, too, Harry. Best hire one in the morning."

Harry is silent for a while, as he opens Google maps, and keys in the address given him by Pablo.

"It's the underground car park on one of Thatcher's less salubrious estates - perfect for a meeting such as this."

"But dangerous, too. You can work out your route in the morning, Harry. Tonight …..." _Tonight we need to connect._

He looks up from the screen, and sees the screen reflected in her eyes. "Tonight?"

"We need to go to bed. It's late, and we need to rest …... Harry …..."

She doesn't finish her sentence. Harry is staring at her, and Ruth reads desire in the darkness of his eyes, and the fullness of his lips. She wants to touch him, but that would be forward of her - an employee - to make a move on her boss. So she returns his gaze. They watch one another, their breathing audible. It is when Harry removes his reading glasses, and places them on the desk beside the laptop that Ruth knows things between them are about to change.

With his right hand, Harry has reached between them to cup her face. His fingertips slowly and gently massage the skin behind her earlobe, while with his thumb he draws ever-increasing circles on her cheek, her jaw, her chin, until he reaches her bottom lip, where he runs his thumb back and forth across her soft flesh. Ruth opens her mouth and touches the pad of his thumb with her tongue, and then with her eyes on his, she pulls the tip of this thumb into her mouth. Harry draws in a deep breath. Just that one small gesture of Ruth's has resulted in a rush of blood to his groin. With the greatest of self control, Harry slowly releases his breath.

"You're calling me Harry," he says, his voice low and husky, his eyes fixed on her mouth, and what her tongue has been doing to the tip of his thumb.

"That's because …... it's your name."

"Mmmm," he says, reaching out, and cradling her face in both his hands.

Harry is aware that they have reached a critical moment in the evening. They can either continue this, and see where it takes them …... or they can halt what they are doing – now - before they reach a point from which they can't turn back. They are working. They are undercover – on an operation – and fraternising while on an operation is the very best way to lose focus, and so risk making mistakes. He should know, he's done it before ... but not for a very long time.

But he doesn't want to stop. He thinks that even had he wanted to, he couldn't. This is Ruth, and he has wanted this with her for well over a year now. He also knows now what he has suspected for some time. Ruth feels as he does. He had once thought her clear interest in him to be little more than a crush ... the admiring of an older man by a younger, less experienced woman. He's been there before, _and_ he's taken advantage, where he knows he needed to have exercised restraint. Ruth has been keeping her distance from him, and now he knows why. She's been waiting until it is clear to them both that he genuinely cares for her ... and he does ... more than care for her. After all, what woman wants to be remembered as a notch on the bedpost?

He has noticed something else different about this night, with he and Ruth touching one another in a way they never have before. He is aroused, yes, but it is not his cock which is driving him, egging him to push her just that little bit further. It is his heart. Inside his chest and his belly, he craves intimacy with this woman, which shouldn't surprise him, but it does. It is a long time since his heart has spoken to him, driving him to losing himself inside a woman.

His eyes flick up to meet hers, and she sees the longing in them. Ruth smiles. This is what they have both needed, and this is what she has wanted. She just hadn't known it until now.

She leans in and places her lips on his. It is all the encouragement Harry needs. He wants this more than he's ever wanted anything. He pulls Ruth close to him, so that she has no alternative than to sit on his lap. She settles across his thighs, and continues the kiss.

Harry is beside himself, but there is a knot of fear deep in his stomach. What if all this is is just a bit of fun to Ruth? What if she calls a stop to this? Were she to stand up now, and walk away from him, he's sure he'd cry real tears. She is kissing him, her tongue is searching for his, and he's hot, and aroused, and his head is spinning, so that he's no longer capable of coherent thought.

No sooner has the kiss become very interesting, than Ruth stands up and turns, reseating herself so that she is straddling him, her face close to his, both arms around his neck. Harry meets her mouth with his. It is not a polite, let's-take-things-slowly kiss. It is hard and passionate, and Harry can feel himself further growing inside his pyjama pants. Tongues tangle and writhe, and he slides one hand inside her bathrobe, where his fingers begin to open the buttons of her pyjama top, grazing the skin of her chest, still warm from the shower. He feathers his fingertips across her ribcage until he feels the gentle swell of her breast. And when the tip of his index finger glances lightly across her nipple, and he feels it hardening under the tip of his finger, he can't help but moan into her mouth. She eases her bottom closer to him, pushing herself against him so that she can feel just how excited he is. She presses her pubic bone against his erection, and smiles into his eyes.

"Not here," Harry says, his voice husky, leaning away from her, and pulling her bathrobe closed. "You said we need to go to bed, and I agree."

Ruth ignores him, and leans in for another kiss, winding her fingers through Harry's hair, while one of her thumbs glides very gently from his chin down the tender skin of his neck to the hollow at his throat. He shudders at her feather-like touch.

"Ruth," he says, against her mouth. "I want …..."

"Me, too."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

They both lean away from the other, and his eyes seek out hers. He has to know. They watch one another. Both are breathing heavily.

"I'm sure, Harry," she replies, her voice low, intimate.

"This will not be just a comfort shag. This means ….."

"I know."

"It will mean everything to me."

"I know. I don't do this with just anyone, and …... Harry, I know you wouldn't do this unless it was important to you. That would be …..."

"Foolish."

"It would. We ….. I've been hoping …..."

"Me too."

"It's just that you're my boss, and that presents a difficult dynamic -"

"Ruth."

"What?"

"Can you stop talking now?"

Harry smiles into her eyes, and moves his arms to pull her closer, but Ruth pulls away from him, slides off his lap, and stands up, reaching out to take his hand in her own. Harry follows her. She is leading him into their bedroom. This night will not be like the other nights.

And it isn't.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N**__**: Still M-ish**_.

* * *

Harry wakes early, remembering he has a busy day ahead of him. He stretches his body under the duvet, and then notices two things – the first is that he is naked, and the other is that Ruth's body, also naked, is curved into his belly, her back towards him. He really should get out of bed, but he slides his arms around her waist, and pulls her closer, so that her bottom rests against his genitals.

He remembers the night before, and how kisses and intimate caresses had been accompanied by declarations of love. He'd meant every word. He hopes she did also. In the dawning of a new day, he wonders if he'd rushed things with her, giving in to his baser drives, just because while here, they are tucked safely away from the Grid, away from prying eyes, and the overactive imaginations of their colleagues. He hopes Ruth will not view his words of love to her as an excuse for sinking himself inside her.

He hadn't had any grand plan. It had just happened. A spontaneous intersection of desire, emotion and opportunity.

It is years since he's told anyone he loves them. It's years since he's been in love. Perhaps not since Juliet, and then, he's not sure that he'd ever loved her. It was just words spoken to a woman – part of a formula for seduction - to ensure she'd continue to have sex with him. But he loves Ruth, and has for some time. He has loved her for well over a year, even without having had sex with her.

Which is a first for him.

He had viewed her as being too young, too delicate – untouchable - for someone like him. He loves women, but he has used them for sex, and sex alone, and a man like that doesn't deserve a woman like Ruth …... except that she'd wanted him, and had smiled into his eyes while they'd made love, and nothing in his life will ever be the same again. _He_ can never be the same again.

Harry feels Ruth unfurl her body against him, sliding a hand back to glide over the skin of his inner thigh. He gasps as she moves her hand upwards, until she touches him on his most sensitive of skin. She turns her face to look at him, and smiles as he grows under her touch. So much for good intentions.

Ruth rolls on to her back, and he moves to cover her, taking his weight on his elbows. They kiss, softly and gently at first, and then the kisses become intense, and heady, and when her tongue touches his, her hand again reaches for him, and begins sliding up and down his length …... slowly …... frustratingly slowly. He pulls out of the kiss, and watches her face, her eyes bright, her mouth curved in a smile.

"I was never pretending, Ruth. I didn't have to pretend."

Ruth removes her hand from him, and winds her arms around his neck, her fingers lightly massaging the top of his spine, sending light shivers down as far as his thighs. "Neither did I," she says. "I meant every word. I meant it all."

"And it won't change when we leave here."

Ruth watches his face, searching for a sign that he is not being genuine. Were he her, he'd be watching him, too. Harry knows men who work in the security services, many of whom would think nothing of sleeping with a younger – and eager – female colleague, and then dumping them the minute they get back to work, or the minute the woman wants more than just casual sex. He used to be one of those men. Since Ruth, he is no longer. He may lie for a living, but he cannot lie to her.

He sees her open her mouth to speak, and then stop, as though pulling back her words.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice little more than a whisper.

Ruth glances up at him, and then her eyes slide away. "I can't believe …... this."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry, you could have anyone …... but you say you want me …. love me. Why?"

"_Why_?"

"Men normally don't notice me. I'm not glamorous, I don't come on to them, and stroke their egos …... or anything else." She looks at him, then, and smiles, wrinkling her nose. "I don't …... play the game …... I'm not …..."

"Is that what's worrying you?"

She nods.

"Ruth, I find you to be the most intriguing, engaging, intelligent ... elusive …... and sexy woman I have ever met. You fill my thoughts, my dreams – both day and night. It's because you _don't_ play the game that I find you so ... beguiling. I've never before met anyone like you. You've never come on to me, or ... or played mind games. You're extraordinary, Ruth, and I feel privileged that you want me, too." He waits until he has her eye contact, and then smiles. "Does that answer your question?"

She nods, smiling, and he can feel how her body has relaxed beneath him. He reaches down to kiss her, and feels her hands grasp his shoulders, her fingers gliding along his skin, so that he shivers with pleasure.

When at last he slides inside her, she watches his face, and sighs heavily. Then they move together …... like they've been making love together for years.

In his head they have been.

He knows he shouldn't have allowed last night to happen, just as he knows he should have left the bed when he awoke this morning, before he allowed _this_ to happen. But he can't resist her, and why should he? _Self control, self denial._ Only a few weeks ago he'd said those words to Ruth. They were true once …... but not now, not where she is concerned.

Harry remembers the Christmases of his childhood, when he'd been given sweets by his grandparents and aunts and uncles. His mother had insisted he only be allowed a few each day, and that he should save the rest for another time – some time in the future. That is where he first learned self control and self denial, but the image of those sweets, the taste of them, had begun to occupy his thoughts more than it should. One day he had climbed on to a chair to reach them, where they'd been hidden in a cupboard above the cooker. He'd grabbed all that remained, taken them down to the back of the garden, and stuffed himself with them.

He is still that small boy, and Ruth has become the sweet he craves. Keeping her at arm's length has only sharpened the craving.

Why shouldn't he have a life? Why shouldn't she? Why shouldn't _they_?

And then he feels her contracting, tightening, undulating around him, as she sighs his name. He lets go …. and all is blessed release. He groans her name as he sinks into her and stays there. Her hands grasping his back, and her legs wrapped around his waist hold him deeply inside her.

This is them - a new and sweet coupling - and more than anything, he hopes that they will last.

* * *

They are eating breakfast in near silence when Ruth's phone rings. She mouths `Colin' to Harry, just before she answers. He listens to her side of the conversation while she winds the ends of her hair around her fingers. He smiles at that simple unconscious act. It is yet another thing he loves about her.

"All the people at the dinner check out," Ruth says, after she ends the call, and then sips her tea. "They're all who they say they are, and they all have legitimate addresses. None of the sixteen couples at last night's dinner have purchased electronic devices …... or imported furniture. And the medical records back up what Nikki Hancock told me. Did I tell you what she told me about her husband?"

Harry shakes his head, still marvelling at how animated Ruth becomes when she is swept up by something which interests her.

"They haven't had sex for eight years. Nick's medical condition has rendered him impotent. Most of the men in that room last night are similarly affected."

Harry sighs heavily. Those poor men. "It makes what we did last night, and then again this morning all the more …..."

"Wonderful, Harry. What we did was wonderful. I wouldn't change it for anything."

Harry nods, smiling into her eyes. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Colin has looked into this Pablo. His real name is Peter James, and he's – using Colin's terminology – a nutter, but he's a Cambridge educated nutter."

"The very worst kind."

"That's not all. He gained a double first in Chemistry, and while in the army he worked as an Ammunition Technician, which is a fancy term for -"

"Someone who knows bombs – both the building, and the dismantling."

Ruth nods. "Colin has also ordered and paid for a rental car for you. It will be delivered here at three o'clock today. He also suggests that using the pen camera will be a give-away with this lot, so he's attaching a shirt button camera, and this shirt will be delivered here late this afternoon, along with instructions on how to activate it. Even if the button is torn from the shirt, once it's activated, it will still record both audio and video."

Harry lifts his eyebrows in a question. "There's more, isn't there?" he asks.

"Given the location this meeting is to take place, and the instability of their leader, he suggests that you have back-up ready at the site. If the men you are meeting tonight know who you are, then they won't be asking questions."

Harry sits back in his chair, his expression one of resistance.

"Harry, I have an investment in you remaining alive and well. I don't even want you going there tonight."

"Ruth, you know why I have to do this, and the reason it needs to be me."

"I'm not questioning your suitability. I know you're the best person for the job. It's just …... I can't bear it were something to happen to you, especially now."

"I have every intention of being careful."

"I should hope so, too. How would you feel were I going in there tonight?"

Harry looks across the table at Ruth, shocked by her honesty. "I'd be terrified."

"So you see …... what it is I'm saying?"

He nods, reaching across the table for her hand. Ruth meets his hand with her own, and they grasp the fingers of the other. While Harry watches Ruth's face, as she suppresses her clear concern for his safety, he is reminded of Jane's reaction whenever he'd go on a tricky mission. She'd express such scorn for what he did, calling it `playing boys' games with all your spy friends'. He can see now that Jane just may have been afraid for him, but had difficulty in expressing how she really felt.

This revelation is one he plans keeping to himself.

* * *

Harry is dressed in his new pale grey shirt. He wears an old pair of faded black jeans, and his favourite jacket – a very well worn leather jacket. His phone is in the inside pocket of his jacket, and he's practised turning the button camera on and off. There is a remote mechanism which Colin has attached to a belt buckle. Harry wears the belt with his jeans.

"Perfect fit," he says, as he buckles his belt.

"What did you expect? Your team are professionals, Harry."

"I know they are."

"Remember to turn it on as you leave the car," Ruth reminds him.

They have gone over the verbal signals he should give – from `sweet' for everything is fine, to `Now!' for send in CO19. They have tested the recording device, and it has been clearly received by all the terminals on the Grid, and by Ruth's laptop in the office of the safe house.

After he'd thought about it for a while after they'd finished breakfast, Harry agreed for Zaf and three junior officers to set themselves up around the proposed meeting place. They are to dress as residents of the housing estate – in track pants, hoodies, trainers and baseball caps – in an attempt to blend in. Once that is arranged, Ruth breathes a little easier.

Harry estimates that the drive to the housing estate will take a half hour, so at five minutes to nine, he checks that his phone is on, and that he is carrying identification for Will Garside. He turns to Ruth, who is standing close beside him.

"Alright?"

"No, but the sooner you leave, the sooner you can be ….."

"I know. And I _will_ be careful, Ruth. I want to come back to you just as much as ….."

Ruth nods, and looks at the floor. She can barely look at him. When she does look up, she sees that he is beginning to lean towards her. She reaches up, and kisses him, her hand on his chest. It is a quick kiss, the kind married couples exchange before they each leave for work.

"I'll see you soon, Ruth," he says, and then he is through the door, and all she can see is his departing back.

"You'd better," she says, but he doesn't hear her.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry pulls up in the carpark to the _King Edward II_ building, a name which, Harry is sure, bears no relevance to the lives of its residents. He makes a mental note of the cars parked in the parking lot, noticing Zaf's car amongst them. He then turns on his button recorder from his belt buckle, and speaks. "I'm in the car park, and Zaf is already here."

He then gets out of the rental car – a blue Ford Focus – locks it, and walks towards the underpass which leads to the underground carpark, where the residents' cars are parked.

"I'm now twenty yards from the entrance to the underground car park. Quite dark …... now I'm at the entrance …... lights on at the back."

In the office of the safe house, Ruth is grateful that Harry has thought to record his progress through the estate. Even when he's not talking, she can hear his breathing, and this makes her feel closer to him.

"I'm following the lights. I think there are a few cars parked right at the back. I'm half way across the underground carpark, and there are a couple of lads …... I think they're doing a drug deal. I can only see them in my peripheral vision. A group of men are standing between two SUV's. …... I think they're our men."

* * *

Zafar Younis has watched Harry's progress across the ground level carpark, and then into the underpass, and from there into the underground carpark. He has been smoking (to blend in) and will be relieved when he can give away his packet of cigarettes to some fourteen-year-old. Zaf gave up smoking when he was nineteen. He hates the way it burns his throat. Besides, when he gets home he'll have to shower and wash his hair, and throw all his clothes in the wash to get rid of the stink. He has an audio feed, and is receiving it in his ear, along with Sean Dodd and Aaron Phillips, both of whom are junior agents, and when dressed in kids' clobber, they could pass for being seventeen. Zaf doubts Harry would even have recognised Sean and Aaron, who are inside the underground carpark, secreted behind a concrete pillar – both on pushbikes, hoodies hiding their features – faking a drug deal. The drug deal was Sean's idea. He's creative and eager, both valuable qualities in a secret service operative. Stuart Singh has been hiding behind another concrete pillar since eight o'clock, firearm at the ready. He is close enough to hear what is going on amongst the men gathered between the two SUV's.

Zaf no longer has visual of Harry, but the three inside the carpark do, and they all have audio feeds. All Zaf can do is wait.

* * *

"Show us your hands!" a voice calls out from the group of men gathered between the SUV's. The voice is educated, vowels correctly formed.

Harry raises his hands, palms outwards.

"Now, come here, and show us ID. Press pass and drivers license."

Harry approaches slowly, and takes both documents from the back pocket of his jeans. He hands them to the man who approaches him. This man has a shaven head, full beard, and the most notable feature is his stature. He is short. Harry thinks he may even be shorter than Ruth. This must be Pablo. Pablo means small or little. He is certainly that.

The short man scrutinises Harry's documents, and then hands them back. He then shoves out his hand for Harry to shake. "I'm Pablo."

"Is that your real name?"

"What do you think? Is it my real name, fellas?" he asks the group of men gathered behind him. Harry does a quick count. There are six men, and Pablo makes seven. Two of the six are displaying firearms, and each of these men flank the remainder of the group. None of the six men speak.

"Dex, check him for recording equipment." Pablo, whilst the smallest and shortest of the group, is clearly the boss.

Dex, who is taller than Harry, and has a similar build, walks up to Harry, and pats him down. "No weapons," Dex reports. "Take off your jacket, and open your shirt."

Harry complies, and Dex checks Harry's chest. "Nothing," he says. "Man …... that's some bullet wound," he says with admiration, when he notices the wound from when Tom Quinn had shot him. "Falklands?"

"Yes," Harry says. "Can I dress now?"

Dex looks at Pablo, and the smaller man nods. Harry closes his shirt buttons, and then puts his leather jacket back on.

Pablo gestures to Harry to come in closer, all the time smiling widely, showing nicotine stained teeth.

"So …... Mr Garside …... what do you want to know?"

"Before I say anything, I need you to instruct your men to lay their weapons on the ground. If they don't do that, then I'm leaving immediately. I am unarmed." Harry waits while Pablo turns and nods to his two armed men, who place their weapons on the ground at their feet. When that is done, Harry continues. "I seem to remember it being you who invited me. I want to know why it is a lowly journalist such as myself has been summoned here."

"Do you now? It being me who invited you? Educated man, are you, Mr Garside?"

"A little. I've read a lot."

"Yes …... it shows. I've been to university. _I'm_ educated. Are you impressed?"

"I'm sure you didn't bring me here in order to gain my approval."

Harry moves in a little closer, as Pablo looks around at his men and smiles. _Grandstander,_ thinks Harry. _Bloody narcissist. Never does anything without an appreciative audience._

"No, I didn't." Pablo's mood changes. He is now serious, edgy, twitchy. Harry knows that this is potentially much more dangerous. "Do you know what we're about, Mr Garside."

Harry already knows that it is pointless to ask Pablo to call him Will. Pablo will never view Harry as a human being, with human emotions. Pablo feels only anger and outrage, and egocentric pride. Emotions outside that narrow realm are irrelevant. Human emotions are part of what makes most people weak …... according to Pablo. Harry has met many men like Pablo. He knows what they are like. There is no point in appealing to their softer side. They don't have one.

"All I know is that you are veterans from the First Gulf War, and that you have issues with the government."

"Issues. That's a poncy word. Are you a ponce, Mr Garside?"

"I am married."

"You didn't answer my question. Are. You. A. Ponce? It's just that you look like one."

"No. I am not a ponce." Harry is keeping his voice calm and steady. He'd like to kick the little shit hard in the bollocks. Maybe he will have a chance later.

"Good. Neither am I, so we are both men on the same page. I brought you here to send a message to our government. To the Ministry of Defence."

"The minister himself?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"I need to know why it is you don't send that message yourself. You're educated, articulate. I'm sure they'd listen to you."

Pablo smiles widely, showing even more stained teeth, and a couple of gaps where teeth have been removed. "You're good, I'll give you that," he says. "Appealing to my pride in my achievements. Why don't I? I've written letters, sent petitions. Jesus, if I had a tenner for every petition I've had signed and delivered to Whitehall..." Pablo turns and smiles at his men, none of whom give him eye contact. All six men are gazing at a point above Harry's head. It then occurs to Harry that these men are afraid of Pablo. "No," Pablo continues, "I need you to send a message which the MoD cannot ignore."

Pablo is standing around six feet from Harry. As he's been speaking, he slowly moves closer to Harry. By the time he has finished his sentence, he is less that two feet away.

"If you were to send a message to Whitehall, how would you do it, Mr Journalist Man?"

"It depends upon the message. I don't know what your message is."

"The message is, and I've thought about this. I've been thinking about it for around a year now. The message is: Don't. Fuck. With. We. Veterans. That's the précis of my message. The wider message is: You cannot ignore Gulf War veterans. You cannot fob us off. We need services, but more importantly, we need the Minister of Defence to admit what was done to us in 1990. And lastly, we demand compensation commensurate with our suffering." Pablo takes another step closer to Harry, and is almost touching him. "Do you know what I mean, Mr Garside?"

"I do, and I understand the message. What I don't understand is how you intend getting that message across, when you previous efforts have met with …..."

"Indifference and denial. Fucking indifference, denial, and coverup."

"So …... I ask again. What do you see my role being?"


	9. Chapter 9

Harry feels quite in control of the situation, but he knows that could change in a millisecond.

Pablo smiles, and takes a step away from Harry, but he is still far too close for Harry's liking. Pablo is around ten to fifteen years younger than he is, looks quite fit, well muscled, and despite his short stature, could probably fell him with one punch.

"I need you to write an article on your blog. People are reading it. You are gaining support daily. I've been keeping track of the hits to your website. You can stir up support for my cause."

"And my message?"

"I need you to write a report on me …... us …... and tell your readers that we're serious. I need you to send a link to your page to each of these members of government." Pablo hands a sheet of A4 paper to Harry, and a quick glance at it shows him that the PM, HS and the Cabinet Secretary are among those who will receive an email.

"You could do this yourself. It would have more impact were it to come from the source," Harry says quietly.

"No. You're not listening." Pablo lifts his hands in front of his face, and his voice conveys his irritation. "I'm just a fucked up veteran. No-one is taking me seriously. You're a words man, and people are reading your blog. I want _you_ to do it. Tell them …... tell them this …... If, within a month, the government has not come clean and _admitted_ that it _deliberately_ medicated Gulf War soldiers with toxic substances – with known side effects, but which were not conveyed to the soldiers themselves, and are still having deleterious effects on many veterans of the Gulf War in present day, " Pablo pauses for dramatic effect. "Then I, and these men behind me, will detonate the explosives which are already set in the basement of Whitehall."

Harry's pause is even longer …... also for dramatic effect. "And why should I do this? What do I get out of it?"

"Notoriety," Pablo says with a sneer. "Your picture will be on the front page of all the major newspapers."

Harry laughs aloud. Pablo really is a first class amateur.

"And if I refuse?"

Pablo acts with the lightness of foot, and speed of a boxer. He steps right up to Harry, while at the same time he punches him in the stomach. Harry doubles over, but has the clarity of mind to say one of the verbal signals. He gasps `orange' before he tumbles on to the cement, and then feels Pablo's boot connect with his ribs ….. once, twice, three times, and more.

A shot rings out, reverberating around the car park, and Pablo cries out, and grabs his knee. Two more shots collect two of the men with weapons. Both lay still. Pablo is writhing on the cement floor of the car park, spitting a string of foul words, strangely in a Birmingham accent.

Harry is aware of a lot of boots on concrete, thumping, sliding, scuffling, but he is without air in his lungs, and so cannot speak. He hears Zaf's voice, and then he feels hands under his arms, pulling him aside. The voice of Stuart Singh. Where had he been? The sound of diesel engines kicking over, and the screech of tyres as the SUV's are driven out of the car park.

Stuart's voice again, close to his chest. "Harry's down, but he's fine. Just winded."

"And the rest," Harry manages to say, more for Ruth's benefit than any other. "He kicked me in the ribs."

"At least he spared your balls. You should thank him for that. Zaf will take you for X-rays."

"I don't need an X-ray."

"Stuart knows best."

"Stuart knows nothing."

"Now, now. Play nice."

* * *

In the safe house, Ruth has heard – and seen – the whole thing through Harry's shirt button camera. Whist the visual feed lacked clarity, the audio was clear. She hears the shots, holds her breath, covering her mouth with her hands, and then hears Pablo screaming expletives at Harry. When she hears Harry's words, `And the rest', she breathes out, smiling, knowing he is letting her know that he is fine, and will be coming home to her, relatively unscathed.

Suspecting that there will be no more nights in the safe house for she and Harry, Ruth leaves the office, and heads into the bedroom to pack her things. It has just gone ten o'clock.

* * *

Harry is a terrible patient. He knows he is, but he can't help himself. He detests all medical procedures – apart from those which might save his life, and even then, he resists assistance offered. His chest hurts like hell, but he knows he is fine. A good night's sleep will sort that out.

"I won't allow you to be discharged until your chest is X-rayed. It is possible that you have broken ribs, and if so, splinters can puncture your lung, and that can be life-threatening if not treated," says his treating doctor, a young man not easily swayed by Harry's belligerent attitude.

Harry would sigh heavily if he could. He can't because his chest hurts too much. "Alright. Where do I sign?"

He is in a cubicle with Zaf – not his chosen companion, but Zaf had driven him to hospital, and will drive him back to the safe house after the doctor has returned with the results of the X-ray. There are two back-up cars following the SUVs being driven by Pablo's men. It will only be a matter of time before they are all taken to Thames House for questioning.

Harry is annoyed with himself. He'd wanted to stroll into the meeting with Pablo, blind him with logic and reason, and walk out unscathed, like one of those white-hatted heroes in the westerns he'd watched on TV as a lad. He'd wanted to impress Ruth.

"Mr Pearce?" the doctor walks into the cubicle with Harry's chest x-rays. "Good news. No breaks, and just one small crack ... about here," he says, pressing lightly on Harry's side, so that he winces slightly. "You're lucky. The rather generous layer of subcutaneous fat tissue under your skin has saved you from serious injury. Apart from the crack, it's mostly bruising. A day or two of rest should sort that out."

Harry thanks the doctor, and walks out, Zaf having to almost run to keep up with him. As they wait for the lift, Harry speaks, his eyes on the floor numbers.

"Subcutaneous fat, my arse. Cheeky young sod wouldn't know muscle if it sat up and talked to him."

Zaf looks down as he smiles. It's so good to have Harry back. He's missed him.

* * *

Zaf drops Harry outside the safe house.

"There's no need for you to come inside, Zaf. Ruth and I will take a taxi home."

Zaf wanted to ask would they be taking one or two taxis, but he keeps his enquiry to himself, knowing Harry would accuse him of being a `cheeky sod'.

"You can take this car back in the morning. Thank you for your help …... in every way."

And then Harry disappears, into the front yard of the safe house, hidden from the road behind rowan trees.

Harry has only just stepped through the front door when he hears Ruth running down the stairs. She stands at the foot of the stairs, watching him, just as he is watching her. When Harry smiles, she walks slowly across the living room to stand just within arm's reach. Harry puts out his left arm, and she allows him to pull her against the left side of his body. He kisses her forehead as he holds her.

"Does it hurt?" she asks, pulling away from him slightly.

"A bit." When she lifts one eyebrow, he decides he should be truthful. "It hurts a lot, but only when I breathe."

Ruth smiles widely, and then reaches up to kiss Harry on the mouth. He returns the kiss, and then pulls away. "We'll have to go home tonight. Will you come with me?"

"To your house?"

"I haven't yet developed the habit of calling the Grid home. I mean my house. I don't want to sleep alone, Ruth. I sleep much better with you beside me."

* * *

_**A/N: Thank you to those who are still reading, and to reviewers. This story is now 13 chapters, and I have added an epilogue, making it 14.**_


	10. Chapter 10

Ruth can find no excuse for not going back to Harry's house with him. To be together on the night of the operation they had planned together seems like a natural extension of the operation itself. They are debriefing; it's just that they have chosen Harry's house and Harry's bed as the venue for the debriefing.

They have showered separately, and are lying next to one another under the duvet. There will be no sex on this night, and perhaps not for the next few nights. Harry has given in, and taken two codeine tablets. He groans, the codeine not yet having taken effect, his mind focusing on the pain in his chest each time he breathes in.

"Bloody ribs," he says. "They're as annoying as toothache."

"Harry …... can I ask you something?"

"Mmm. Of course."

They are lying side by side on their backs, and before she again speaks, Ruth grasps his hand in her own.

"Why did you call Pablo's bluff? It could have ended very badly indeed."

Ruth waits while Harry breathes in and out a few times, his breath laboured. She is sure she can feel his pain in her own chest.

"He annoyed me," Harry says at last. "His stupid mind games were wasting valuable time, and I wanted him to know that I wasn't impressed by him."

"And that could have got you killed," Ruth says, rather more snappishly than she'd intended. "You can't afford to get annoyed with someone who has the numbers on you, Harry. Would it have hurt you to have _pretended_ to be impressed by him?"

"I'm sick of pretending, Ruth. I didn't want to stand there all night, playing word games, stroking the little shit's ego, while he decided whether to give me more information."

"Your job was to gather that information …... by any means."

"You do remember that I'm your boss, Ruth."

"Not while we're in bed, you're not."

Harry smiles into the dark. Playing the Boss card clearly only impresses Ruth while they're at work. "I got the information. I just …..."

"Got more than you'd bargained for."

"Yes."

"Did you know Zaf and the others were close by?"

"Yes. I hadn't known how close Stuart was, though. If not for him …..."

They lapse into silence. After a while, Ruth notices Harry's thumb running back and forth along the ring she still wears on her left hand.

"Are you still wearing your ring?" she asks.

"Yes. I hadn't wanted to remove it. It's been like a …... a -"

"Talisman?"

"Yes."

"We'll have to take them off before we go back on the Grid tomorrow."

"I know," he agrees. "Imagine the fuss were we to still be wearing them."

They lie in silence for some minutes, Harry's thumb still gliding over the surface of Ruth's ring, when Ruth speaks.

"Harry …..."

"Yes."

"What now?"

He hesitates before answering. "You mean _us_, don't you?"

"I'm not talking about the operation. I'm imagining it will be tied up rather soon."

"Within the next day or so hopefully."

"Well?"

Harry attempts turning his body to face Ruth, but she sees the pain on his face, and gently pushes him back against his pillow. Harry sighs heavily.

"Do you not want an us, Ruth?"

"No! I thought you said that us becoming …..."

"Intimate?"

"Yes …... intimate. I understood you to say that this would mean something to you."

"And it does, Ruth. When we're here – like this – this is my whole world. Just you and me. That's all I want …... but …..."

"Tell me."

Harry turns his head this time, and sees the fear in Ruth's face. He lifts his hand from hers, and brings it from under the duvet, where he very gently caresses her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"I don't have all the answers, Ruth. All I know is that _we_ should not encroach on our working relationship …... which is where we began."

"I'm not sure that even makes sense, Harry."

"Nor am I."

"The relationship we have at work is part of our personal relationship. I'm not sure it's even possible to separate the two, much less keep them apart, one from the other."

Harry removes his fingers from her cheek, and smiles at her. He needs to reassure her, which is difficult enough when he's feeling healthy. He wants to turn on his side and put his arms around her, holding her close to settle her fears.

"I want this, Ruth. I want _us_. We need to keep going as we are at work, and spend our free time together. The rest I'm sure we can sort out as we go along."

"Is that all we have to do? Make it up as we go along?"

"There's more to it, of course, but …... Ruth, I'm tired, and …..." He glances over at Ruth, and notices tears rolling down her cheeks. Again he lifts his hand, and wipes away her tears with his fingers. Ruth gulps, and then turns towards Harry, and buries her face into his neck. With difficulty, he lifts his arm, and winds it around her.

After some minutes, she stops crying, and wipes her face with her fingers. "I just don't want you dying on some stupid operation while you're meant to be at Thames House, holding us all together."

"Is that what this has been about, Ruth?"

He feels her head move as she nods.

"You're too old to be taking on a group of men ten years your junior."

"So, you're saying I'm too old to be in the field."

"No, Harry. I'm saying that I love you, and I don't wish the next funeral I attend to be yours."

Harry finds her words sobering. "I can't give any guarantees," he says, "but I'll keep that request in mind."

"Please do."

Harry kisses the top of her head, and closes his eyes. He has to remember that when Ruth says, `I love you', she just may mean, `please don't die'. It is then that Harry realises the responsibility he has towards her. He is no longer a young man. He must lead from his office, which means he must begin to delegate.

* * *

"The bomb squad spent several hours in Whitehall overnight," Adam announces at the meeting at the Grid at midday next day. "They trawled through the basement, and then the corridors, the rest rooms..."

"Nothing," Malcolm says, looking around the meeting table at Harry, Ruth, Zaf, Adam and Jo.

"What about Pablo?" Harry asks.

"Cocky sod," Adam replies. "We didn't get a lot out of him. Knocking him around made no difference at all. He seemed to enjoy it."

"And the only electronic timing devices were found at a lockup owned by Derek Slade. We have three of them, now locked in one of our safes."

"Derek Slade must be Dex," Harry muses. "He was the one who frisked me. What about the furniture imported from The Netherlands?"

"One of them – Slade again – is building a new home for himself and his new wife," Adam says. "Several of them imported pieces of furniture on his behalf, but from a different suppliers ….. something about being a surprise for Slade's wife."

"Colin has the task of keeping tabs on all the men you met last night, Harry," Malcolm continues. "He will be examining all the usual avenues – their bank transactions and details, plus the bank transactions of their wives and partners, any activity which is out of character, any travelling in or out of the country..."

"They'll be allowed to leave the country?" Jo asks, incredulous.

"We have to give them just enough rope for them to hang themselves," replies Malcolm.

"Shouldn't this Pablo guy do time for assaulting Harry?" Jo asks, her eyes wide.

"If we locked up every person who assaulted one of us -"

"There'd be no-one left on the streets." Adam finishes Harry's sentence for him. "There's a chance he'll be put away for the threat on Whitehall, but he'll probably end up in a mental health unit. In the meantime, he's more value to us as a free man."

All eyes are on Harry as he prepares to speak. "We have to consider the possibility that what happened last night was a diversion. The absence of anything untoward in the basement of Whitehall gives me reason to think that Pablo's intention was to send us scuttling in the wrong direction."

"Did he seriously think you were about to write about his plot on your blog?"

"I believe he did, Jo. Remember that he believed me to be a journalist. While everyone who read my blog would be checking out Whitehall – the offices of MP's, as well as all the nooks and crannies in the building – he'd be setting up his real point of attack. Any ideas on that, Malcolm?"

Malcolm looks surprised at being singled out. "None, but I have thought that this chap could just be looking for his fifteen minutes of fame. He certainly doesn't appear to have a workable plan – at least, none that I can see …. yet. But there is something I think I should mention. He's had email contact with Michael Collingwood..." Malcolm coughs into his hand, his non-verbal indication that he has more to say.

"From Six?" Zaf asks.

"The very same. It's all very innocent so far …... Collingwood asking after his health …... his son, whether he has enough money. I'll keep an eye on it …... and I've given the emails to Colin, just in case they're coded. So far …... nothing, I'm afraid."

"Thank you, Malcolm," Harry says.

"In the meantime," Adam adds, "there is something more immediate on the horizon. You've all no doubt seen the signs saying _Djakarta Is Coming_."

Keeping one ear on Adam, Harry glances quickly at Ruth, who is sitting to his right, across the corner of the table. Throughout the meeting she has barely spoken. He hopes she is not experiencing discomfort in the workplace, now that their personal relationship has changed.

Fifteen minutes later, the others leave the meeting room, while Harry places his hand on Ruth's forearm, keeping her in her seat.

"Are we …...?" Harry asks, after the door has swung shut for the last time.

Ruth looks up at him for the first time, her eyes large. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that you were …... quieter than usual, and …."

"I was thinking, that's all …... about Pablo …... and what a terrible waste of resources it was, sending us both undercover to find …... what?"

Harry sighs heavily. "Was it a waste of time, Ruth? We don't know yet what is really going on."

"Pablo is a fantasist, and we got drawn into his fantasy."

Harry waits, knowing he must respond in a way which will not diminish her concerns. "Perhaps we did, Ruth, but we also found each other."

Ruth's eyes flash as she looks up at him, and then her face softens. She nods, looking down at her hands. "That's hardly an issue of national importance, Harry."

"Perhaps not, but it's important to me."

"And to me," Ruth says quietly.

"Good," he says, standing and adjusting his jacket. He puts his hand at Ruth's back as she gets to her feet.

"We're fine, Harry. I thought you knew that," Ruth whispers, stepping closer to Harry, and placing a quick kiss on his lips, before stepping past him, and heading towards the door, where, with one hand on the door handle, she turns to him. "How are your ribs this morning? I forgot to ask earlier."

"They hurt a bit, but I'll survive."

"That's good," she says, watching him.

"Should you ever want out," he says quietly, "from us, then -"

"I don't, Harry. I'm happy …... with us. I'm very happy …... with you." She offers him a quick smile, and then opens the door and leaves.

As the door closes behind her, Harry smiles, placing the tips of his fingers on his lips, which still tingle from where she'd kissed him. He is not used to feeling this cared about. It will take some getting used to.


	11. Chapter 11

It is only a few weeks later that tragedy again strikes the team on the Grid.

Harry and Ruth have worked well together, their personal relationship left at the pods as they enter the Grid. Most evenings after work are spent together, and on some of these evenings, one will stay over at the home of the other. For now, it is working well, although Harry is looking forward to a time when the arrangement they now have – which is somewhat casual and spontaneous – can become more predictable. He craves permanence and stability with Ruth. He'd always believed that women also wanted stability with their partners, but he's talking about Ruth, and nothing about her is at all like other women he has known. The truth is, Harry is afraid to raise the subject with Ruth, for fear she'll feel corralled into a permanent arrangement with him. There are times when he wishes he could read her mind, but then …... perhaps it's a good thing he can't. He couldn't bear learning that she's not as besotted with him as he is with her.

Then the terrorist attacks begin in earnest, and everyone on the Grid is required to be there for as long as they are able to remain awake. Personal relationships and families have to take a back seat.

During these frantic few weeks, Ruth worries about Harry, but he assures her he is travelling well. One afternoon, she and Malcolm are working together, chatting about a play Malcolm had seen the previous week, and had almost gone to the box office afterwards, demanding his money back.

"It was called experimental," he says, "and I have no problem with that, but I expect something better than a village amateur production, especially after the money I parted with. Had I been accompanied by a lady I cared about, I'd have died from the embarrassment."

"Sorry to interrupt."

It is Harry. He has entered the room, and is standing beside their table. Malcolm stops speaking, and both he and Ruth look up into Harry's face. Ruth is so surprised to see him that she temporarily forgets they are at work, and looks up at him with open adoration. Her expression quickly changes, as what he has to tell them fills her with horror. They have lost another one of their own, and this time it is Colin.

* * *

That evening, they make their way to Adam's flat to regroup, and discuss ways of responding to Colin's murder. Ruth travels with Malcolm and Zaf in Zaf's car, while Harry travels there alone. Ruth sits near the corner of Adam's settee, and is not surprised when once Harry arrives, he sits across the corner from her, and leans towards her. It is his way of saying that he needs her. It may also be his way of offering her some small comfort. Throughout the meeting, Ruth glances at Harry, noting his distress. His body language shows her how powerless he feels. Harry is a man used to taking charge, and Colin's senseless death has dented his confidence.

Without a word passing between them, after she leaves Adam's flat, she accompanies Harry to his car. Malcolm and Zaf seem to understand. Ruth is sure they all sense something going on between the two of them, but they are too polite to offer comment.

Ruth climbs into the passenger seat beside Harry, and closes the door behind her. She looks across at him to see him sitting there, deflated.

"I handled that badly," he says quietly.

"Yes, you did rather. Come home to mine. We can pick up something to eat on the way."

"I have so much I need to do," he says, passing a hand over his eyes.

"Leave it until tomorrow ….. when you're feeling fresher. Malcolm and Zaf are going back to the Grid, and I have the junior analysts working until midnight. You need a break."

"I'm not sure I deserve it."

"That's ridiculous talk, Harry. No-one works harder than you. Come on. We can talk when we get home."

* * *

They sit at Ruth's dining table and eat, mostly in silence. Ruth's chatter – her attempts to lift Harry's spirits – are met with little more than grunts, and one-word answers.

"I feel useless," he says at last. They have settled into Ruth's bed, and are turned towards one another, their fingers linked on the mattress. With only the hallway light to illuminate the room, their faces are barely more than shadows on their pillows.

"Harry, you can't continue to beat yourself up over this. The Gulf War veterans op was successful -"

"For now."

"Pablo's movements are being recorded, his electronic communication scrutinised …... and Cabinet are discussing changes to how veterans are managed."

"Talk is cheap."

"None of us saw this coming, Harry. It's perverse that Colin was targeted. We're dealing with something rather nasty now, and your taking personal responsibility for Colin's death won't bring him back."

"I know. It's just that I don't know what to do next."

Ruth pulls away from him, turning her shoulders so that she can look him in the eye. "Then leave the decision-making to Adam. He needs to keep busy. He needs to feel useful. And he _is_ rather fired up right now."

"I know. I just hope he doesn't act foolishly."

"Honey …... you have to trust him."

Harry turns his head on the pillow, a small smile on his lips. "You called me honey."

"I was just …... practising …... seeing how it felt to say it."

"And?"

"It felt strange …... and somehow wrong. What if it becomes a habit, and then one day I call you honey on the Grid?"

"That could cause …..."

"Raised eyebrows."

"Yes."

"Adam is your section chief …... Harry. His job is to lead during times like these. Besides, you have quite enough to do without carrying any more on your shoulders, broad as they are."

"You should work in Whitehall, Ruth."

"No thanks," she laughs lightly. "Aside from the awfully long hours, and the terrible pay, I enjoy my job. Besides …..." Ruth smiles into Harry's eyes, "I have a rather attractive boss."

Ruth is relieved to see the beginning of a proper smile on Harry's lips. "Flatterer!" he says, before he leans over to kiss her. The kiss is hardly chaste, and Ruth sinks into her pillow as he covers her body with his, sliding his fingers down her neck, so that she shivers at his touch.

"Yes, but flattery works every time with you, Mr Pearce."

Harry's fingers reach under Ruth's t-shirt, sliding over her skin. He kisses her in the way which tells her that he wants her. She wants to resist him on this night, the night of the day Colin Wells has been so brutally and senselessly murdered.

"We shouldn't, Harry," she says at last, pulling away from him, breathless, her skin burning with desire.

If only she didn't want him so much. She's still not used to this …... to _them_. _They_ – she and Harry, together – overwhelm her at times, and she is not sure that this is wise, or even healthy. She brings her mind back into the moment to see that Harry is watching her, his face a map of confusion and hurt.

"Ruth …... we need this. We need to comfort one another. We've been so busy these past two weeks."

"And you're that desperate for a shag?"

As soon as the words have left her mouth, she wants them back. It was a crass and unfitting comment to have made. She knows Harry better than that. He is not that kind of man. He is not after sex just for the sake of it.

"I'm sorry," she says, but it is too late. Harry has rolled off her, and is lying on his back on his side of the bed. He has broken contact with her, one arm across his stomach, while the other is by his side, on the bed between them. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Then why did you?" he says quietly, his eyes staring ahead.

"I …... it just came out. I don't think of you in that way, Harry. It's …... it's what I've come to expect from men, and I keep forgetting that you're not like other men …. some of the men I've known."

Ruth waits in the silence, in the near dark. She knows she's made a mistake. She can feel the distance between them, and it is like a solid object. _She_ did that. _She_ has ruined _them_. All it has taken are seven ill-thought words, and _they_ are threatened.

Is this all they are? Two people who are held together by the finest and most delicate of gossamer threads? Is it that easy to shatter them? Can they be destroyed this easily?

"Do you want me to go?" he asks, his voice giving away nothing of the panic he is experiencing.

"No."

Ruth waits, trying to find the right words to say to him. She wants to ask for forgiveness, and to roll over on to him, and kiss him until he forgets what has just happened. But that won't work. She knows it won't work. Her words, about him being desperate for a shag, will hang between them no matter what she says and does now.

"Perhaps I should go anyway," he says, lifting the duvet in preparation for leaving the bed.

Ruth grasps his arm, perhaps too tightly, and he stops, and turns to look at her. The sadness she sees in his eyes brings instant tears to her own.

"Harry, please stay," she whispers. "I'm not used to …... _this_. I don't know how to be with you. I'm …... I've never been good at relationships. I inevitably mess them up …... somehow."

Harry sighs, taking his hand from the duvet, so that the bed cover flops silently, covering his thighs. "Are you alright, Ruth?" He glances the backs of his fingers along her cheek where her tears glisten.

Ruth doesn't know how to answer that question. `No, I'm not alright', means that she's pathetic and teary and weak. `Yes, I'm fine thank you', makes her sound cold-hearted.

"I don't know," she says at last, turning to face him.

At least she has answered honestly. She doesn't know. She doesn't know anything. She's rubbish at this, rubbish at being a girlfriend, and especially rubbish at being Harry's girlfriend. He deserves someone better than her, someone who knows how to look after him, and to make him happy. She only ever makes him miserable.

And before she can say anything else, her face crumples, her shoulders shake, and she turns her face into Harry's shouders, as she cries out her confusion, her heartache, and her grief for Colin, a man who never hurt anyone.

Harry slides his arm around her shoulders, holding her as close as she allows. He has no idea what is going on, other than he feels frightened, and not only of the people who murdered Colin Wells.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: M-ish again.**_

* * *

Harry has managed to put both his arms around Ruth, as her posture has softened while she quietly cries. He's not sure what her tears are about, and he's almost certain neither does Ruth. Colin's death, against the backdrop of the wider threat, has unsettled them all, and Ruth's sensitivity has rendered her more vulnerable than most. She is not a field agent. She is not used to bottling her feelings, stuffing her grief down deep inside her. He knows she's crying for more than Colin's death, more than the words she'd spoken only a few minutes earlier. He knows she regrets having spoken harshly to him, but there's more, and he doesn't know how to reach that hurt part of her. It's all the sharp edges inside her he's afraid of touching, for fear of hurting her the way others have already hurt her. He only ever wants to love her. He has never been terribly good at the emotional side of relationships, and perhaps after all, neither has Ruth. Together, they are a bit hopeless, but he will not allow their combined level of hopelessness to tear them apart. He needs her, and he believes that equally, she needs him. As much as he and she are opposites, they are also very much alike.

Eventually, her tears stop, and she nestles against him, her knees lifted against his side. Harry would like to lie closer to her, their bodies pressed together for warmth and comfort, but he is not at this moment feeling brave enough to suggest it. She might again accuse him of wanting sex. Of course he'd wanted sex tonight. It had been almost two weeks since they'd had the time and the energy for spending private time together. It's just that if she doesn't want that, he is happy to go along with her wishes. There will be other times …... some time in the future, when life is not so hectic. It's just that at times like these – dangerous times, life-threatening times – the best antidote to the gut-gnawing fear is intimacy with another person.

Ruth has become silent, and Harry draws her as close to him as he can, given she has stretched her legs, and her knees no longer press against his ribs. Then he turns to face her, and sees that her eyes are closed, and that her breathing is steady and even. Ruth is asleep.

Perhaps that is best. He is tired. She is tired. They might feel more like talking once morning comes. The day has been long and fraught and emotional, and he should follow her lead and get some sleep.

His body aches where Ruth had pressed her knees into his ribs, ribs which only two weeks earlier had been cracked and bruised where Pablo had kicked him with his heavy-soled army boots. He also aches elsewhere. He _was_ after sex this night. He'd wanted it badly, and now his groin aches. That can't be helped. Harry settles against his pillow, one arm still around Ruth, and closes his eyes.

* * *

Harry is jolted awake by sounds close to his right ear. He opens his eyes to see Ruth proffering a mug of steaming coffee, and a chocolate croissant on a plate. He struggles to sit up, while Ruth leans towards him to lift his pillow, so that he can sit with his back resting against it. For the briefest of moments he enjoys her proximity …... the softness of her breasts as they press against his upper arm, and her natural body scent in his nostrils. She is dressed in her bathrobe, thick socks on her feet. As he takes a sip of his coffee, Ruth drags a chair close to his side of the bed, and sits down. She then takes the other cup of coffee from the table beside the bed, and holds it between her hands.

"You've been out already?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"The croissant. It's delicious."

"No. I bake a batch every Monday night."

Ruth's expression is blank, and so he can do nothing but believe her. He watches her face, and then notices the edges of her mouth twitch in a shy smile, as she innocently sips her coffee.

"Not your handiwork, then," he says, returning her smile.

"I picked them up at Tesco's on my way home two nights ago. I left them in the fridge …... hoping to be sharing breakfast with you."

"You did a really good job of buying them, Ruth."

She wrinkles her nose at him, and he lets out his breath in a sigh.

"Are we alright?" Harry asks.

"What do you mean by alright?"

"Are you still mad at me?"

"I was never mad at you, Harry, but I _was_ rather annoyed with myself."

He doesn't know how best to reply to that, so he says nothing at all. He takes a large bite from his croissant, savouring it once he has it inside his mouth. It is only then that he admits to himself that eating has often become his substitute for sex …... when he's not pouring whiskey down his throat. He'll have to keep an eye on his food intake. As much as Ruth says she loves his rounded belly, she'll not find him attractive should he get any fatter.

Harry is watching Ruth over the rim of his coffee cup when his phone suddenly rings. He breathes out heavily, knowing it will be work. He places the croissant back on the plate, and picks up his phone, uttering another – heavier - sigh. "It's Adam," he says, reading the name on the phone's display. "Yes, Adam," he says, his voice clipped and businesslike.

Ruth watches Harry on the phone to Adam, as he listens carefully, and occasionally asks a question. The conversation is chiefly one way, and brief, and after only a few minutes, Harry closes his phone, and places it back on the bedside table. He then turns to look at her, his expression unreadable.

"The first piece of news is that the body of Peter James - known as Pablo - was found early this morning in Battersea Park, along with the carcasses of two of the animals from the children's zoo. He'd been shot in the head, with the bullet from a gun he still had in his hand."

"What about the park's security?"

"They took a break just before 4am, and that's when it happened."

"I take it that it wasn't suicide."

"It's almost certainly murder, staged as a suicide. The dead animals are clearly meant to indicate a disturbed mental state."

"I take it from what you're saying that his death will not be investigated further," Ruth muses.

"It's unlikely. He'd done his job, and now he's ..."

"Collateral damage."

"Yes ... but that's not the reason Adam rang. There's a meeting scheduled for this afternoon in the military bunker beneath Whitehall."

Ruth watches Harry, waiting for details.

"I don't expect there to be a desirable outcome. The Home Secretary, Adam, Juliet and myself are meeting with Paul Millington, Michael Collingwood, and Jocelyn and Ros Myers."

Sensing a change in atmosphere between them, Ruth has sat on the edge of the bed beside Harry. "Am I the only one who finds Collingwood to be frightening?"

"No, Ruth, you're not the only one. I feel the same way, but one has to keep enemies like him close."

"Even after what happened to Pablo?"

"Especially then."

"Do you have to leave soon?"

"No. The meeting's not until four o'clock. I can stay here …... with you, for a little while longer."

"How long?"

Harry reads her meaning. "Long enough," he says quietly.

He waits while Ruth mulls over his words, and then she carefully places her mug on the bedside table - next to Harry's mug, and his half-eaten croissant. She then unties her bathrobe, pulling it open to reveal naked skin beneath. Harry can't help himself. He reaches out with one hand, and gently caresses the skin of her side with his fingertips, while he runs the pad of his thumb over her belly, all the while watching Ruth's face for her reaction. After all, it was only a little over eight hours ago that Ruth had accused him of being desperate for sex. Can't she see that even if he is desperate for her, it is _she_ he wants, and that it's not just about the sex. It will always be about _them_.

Ruth watches him, noting his hesitation. She grasps his fingers, and lifts his hand to her breast. Harry is still hesitant, watching her face, waiting for the inevitable verbal slap. Ruth quickly slides her robe from her body, and then just as quickly, she lifts the duvet, and straddles Harry's body, settling her bottom over his upper thighs.

Harry needs no clearer instructions than these. He tears off his undershirt, while Ruth lifts her body off him, and then struggles to pull his trunks over his hips, and his rapidly growing erection. It has been so long for them. They need this. They need one another now, and if it's over too quickly, then that will have to be enough.

They make love while the sun blinks through a gap in the curtains. Their loving is fast, and frantic, and exhilarating. Afterwards, once they have cooled off, and the sweat on their bodies has dried, they lie together under the duvet, their arms around one another.

"I see you kept your socks on," Harry says against her ear.

"My feet were cold."

"Right."

They settle down together, enjoying the silence.

"I'll have to leave soon," he says, after they've spent a quiet twenty minutes in a post coital cuddle.

"I know."

"The next few days could be difficult."

"I know that too."

"We might not have any time to ourselves."

"I accept that, Harry."

"You do?"

"You know I do. Whatever happens, I just need you to be careful."

"I'll be careful, Ruth."

* * *

So when, only another ten hours later, Malcolm tells Ruth of reports that one of the cars leaving the meeting had been blown up, Ruth is reminded of their conversation while they'd lain in her bed that morning. "Harry?" she says, her face giving away her fear for her lover's life.

"No news yet," Malcolm replies.

Ruth swallows her panic. She has a job to do, and so she gets on with it. Until she learns otherwise, she must believe Harry to be safe.

It is a very long forty minutes before she hears from him. She carefully listens to his voice over the phone, hiding from him the fear she has been holding just beneath the surface.

"Sorry I didn't ring earlier," he says, with no trace of emotion, "but it's been a difficult couple of hours."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he says, "and so is Adam. The Home Secretary made it out of the car safely, but Juliet was hit by flying debris from the exploding car. She's been taken to hospital. She …... she has no feeling in her legs."

Ruth is so relieved that she almost makes another gaffe. As irritated as Harry seems to be by Juliet's current presence in his life, a comment about Juliet's injury being a case of poetic justice would not be welcomed, so she says what is in her heart.

"I'm relieved you're safe, Harry. I love you."

"And I you, Ruth."

And then Harry abruptly ends the call, after which Ruth sits back in her chair, and lets out the breath she feels as though she's been holding since Harry left the Grid for his meeting at Whitehall.

Harry Pearce gets to fight another day. All's right with the world. For now.


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: A couple of lines of dialogue in this chapter are lifted directly from S05.E02, so I acknowledge that these lines belong to Kudos, as does the canon storyline.**_

_**Thanks to readers and reviewers.  
**_

* * *

It is less than a day later later that Ruth's sense of inner peace is proved to be overly optimistic. Harry has been kidnapped – no doubt by Collingwood - and she insists that Adam put all available resources towards his rescue.

"We have to find him," she says to Adam across the meeting table, not caring that she sounds desperate.

"We have to stop this coup from taking place," Adam counters. "By doing that, we'll also help Harry."

Deep inside herself, Ruth knows that Adam is right. It's just that the Grid always works better, _she_ always works better, with Harry present. And anything could be happening to him. She is afraid of what Michael Collingwood has in mind for Harry. Compared with Collingwood and his cronies, Juliet Shaw is a newborn kitten.

Before she heads off to pick up a drop from Vasily Ivanovich, Adam reminds Ruth that she can best help Harry by remaining focused. Again she knows he is right. She just doesn't like it that they are having to deal with the wider issues, when Harry is somewhere, possibly being tortured, or perhaps dead already. After all, he is a man with a sure moral compass, while Collingwood, Myers and Millington are opportunistic, power-hungry, and self-serving. There is nothing they are not prepared to do to ensure they wield power over the PM and the government.

As Ruth heads off to her drop, she wonders whether Adam has guessed what is going on between she and Harry. She is the one who wants to keep _them_ secret, while Harry has admitted that while he doesn't want the whole world to know about them - `for security reasons, Ruth' – he would be happy for those they work with to know that he and Ruth are now together.

"I don't want them laughing at us, Harry …... at you," she'd said.

"I rather like to think they'd be happy for us," he'd countered, "and I'm sure they notice more than we realise."

Has Adam noticed? After today, he'd have to have been blind and deaf to not have read Ruth's deep concern for Harry on her face, and in her voice. Would it be such a bad thing if he knew? Would it be as upsetting as she fears if they all knew?

In that moment, Ruth can think of no good reason why she and Harry should keep their relationship a secret from those who work with them every day.

Three days later - 5:55 pm Juliet Shaw's hospital room:

Ruth sits on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the annexe just off the corridor outside Juliet's hospital room. Harry is visiting Juliet, bringing her up to speed with the events which had resulted in the blockading of the `special measures' – essentially a _coup d'__é__tat_ of the government of the day. Harry still has to head back to Thames House to speak with the DG, and then they're going home to Harry's house. They will pick up dinner on the way home, and when they have eaten, they will climb into bed together. Since Harry was kidnapped by Collingwood, Ruth has run out of reasons why they should be spending their nights apart. Anything could happen to either of them – or both of them – at any time, and without warning. Compared with that, a little light-hearted ribbing from their friends is insignificant.

Ruth waits another five minutes before she looks through the blinds into Juliet's room, and sees Harry sitting on the bed, chatting away like the old friend he is. Ruth experiences an automatic pop-up of jealousy, but she staunches it immediately it surfaces. Harry has no interest in Juliet, other than professionally, and even then, he finds her interference and overriding of his decisions annoying at best, and infuriating at worst.

Failing to gain eye contact with Harry, Ruth knocks on the window with her knuckles. Juliet looks up, sees Ruth, and then turns back to Harry to speak to him. Ruth steps away from the window and waits.

When Harry joins her in the corridor, they turn together, and walk towards the lifts.

"You'll never guess what Juliet just said," Harry says, once they are out of earshot of Juliet's room.

"What?" Ruth looks up at him, a half smile on her face.

"She asked me was I in love with you."

"And what did you say?"

"I intimated she had stepped over a line."

"Well played."

"And then …... she informed me that you're in love with me." Harry turns to give Ruth a lop-sided smile, as they take a turn in the corridor towards the lifts.

Ruth is so stunned that she stops suddenly in the middle of the corridor.

"How does she know?" she says in an almost-whisper.

"As you know, Juliet has many characteristics which I find irritating, and even intolerable at times, and while tact and compassion are not high on her list of qualities, she is very observant of others. She watches people, and reads them rather well."

Ruth still stands in the same spot in the corridor. An orderly pushing an empty gurney has to navigate around the two of them. "What should we do?" she asks.

"Nothing. We do what we would have done had she not over-shared with me." Harry takes Ruth's elbow, and leads her to the lifts. "It makes no difference, Ruth." He leans close to her as he continues speaking. "We are still Ruth and Harry, and we are still the same couple we were an hour ago."

Ruth's insides warm at his use of the word, `couple', to describe them. That's what they are. They are two people - a couple. The lift doors open in front of them, and Harry leads Ruth into the lift, and then presses the button for the ground floor. They share the lift with an elderly couple, so Harry spends the ride down four flights watching Ruth in the reflection of the stainless steel wall opposite them. She catches his eye, and then looks down, feeling suddenly overcome by his attention, although they have been watching one another for almost two years now.

Harry is driving his car out of the hospital car park, when he again speaks.

"Would you like to have dinner tonight, Ruth? We haven't actually been out together, and I was thinking that maybe you'd like …... to eat out."

He's right. They haven't been out. They always stay in, and eat either what one of them has cooked, or a takeaway they've picked up on the way home. Ruth gives his suggestion some thought.

"You know …... I'd love to, but not tonight, Harry. I'm …..."

"Tired?"

"Exhausted. Maybe another night, when things are …..."

"Quieter?"

"Yes. They'll get quieter soon, won't they?"

Harry smiles across at her. "I hope so, Ruth, but if they don't..." He shrugs. "I just thought you might like to get into your glad rags and kick up your heels."

Ruth chuckles quietly. Sometimes, Harry is _such_ a middle-aged man …... but he's _her_ middle-aged man.

St Johns Church Of England Chapel, Bloomsbury - 5 days later:

_Comrades mine, and I in the midst, and their memory ever I _

_keep—for the dead I loved so well; _

_For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands...and this for his dear sake; _

_Lilac and star and bird, twined with the chant of my soul, _

_There in the fragrant pines, and the cedars dusk and dim. _

Malcolm has read the excerpt from the Walt Whitman poem with grace and dignity, and by the time the reading is ended, Ruth has a few tears rolling down her cheeks. She is about to open her bag in search of a tissue, when she feels Harry move beside her, and then he hands her a clean handkerchief of his own. She takes it, smiling up at him through her tears, and uses it to wipe her eyes. When her face is dry, she hands the handkerchief back to him, and he slips it into the pocket of his jacket. He then takes her hand in his, and gives her fingers a reassuring squeeze, before placing her hand back in her lap. Ruth is aware of Adam, Zaf and Jo sitting directly behind them, and so is relieved Harry had not held on to her hand.

What neither Ruth or Harry see is the exchange of glances between Zaf, Jo and Adam, and the nods Adam receives from both Jo and Zaf. Adam sighs, shifting in his seat.

After the memorial service, everyone leaves, heading straight for the car park. Only Adam, Harry and Ruth hover near the side door of the chapel. Despite it being late in the afternoon, the sun is still warm, and they each lift their faces to feel its rays.

"It's such a beautiful day," Ruth comments, then realising that for everyone Colin has left behind, the day is not so beautiful at all.

"It is," Adam replies. "Too beautiful for this occasion."

Harry turns to Ruth, and says, "Ready?" reaching out to put his hand under her elbow.

Before Harry's hand reaches Ruth's elbow, Adam lifts his hand, saying, "There's something I need to say …... to both of you."

Harry and Ruth turn to face Adam, and Harry juts his jaw. "What?" Harry says.

"I've been nominated – by the others – to speak to you both. I didn't want to be the one to be doing this. To be honest, I think it's a bit naff, but I'm honouring the majority vote."

Harry looks down at Ruth, and they exchange a look of knowing. Harry rolls his eyes before looking back at Adam. "Well, spit it out," Harry says, his irritation evident.

Adam, his hands stuffed into his trousers pockets, shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "We all know that you are …... together, and …... we want you to know that …... we are happy …... for you both." On finishing his little speech, Adam smiles widely.

"We have your blessing? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes," Adam replies, with more confidence than he feels. "That sounds about right. We're happy to see that you have at last …... sorted yourselves out."

Harry feels Ruth begin to bristle beside him, and he grasps her hand, squeezing it tightly in his. "Well, that's a relief. I'm sure that Ruth and I will sleep better for knowing that. Is that all?" Harry speaks in his office staccato.

"I guess so."

"Good. Now Ruth and I can leave …... if that's alright with you."

Adam steps back, allowing Harry to grasp Ruth's elbow, and lead her towards the car park. He smiles at their departing backs. How typical of Harry to demand he take control of the situation. Adam still hasn't figured out what it is Ruth sees in the old bugger, but it's clear Harry has qualities which he keeps well hidden from everyone but her.

Harry closes Ruth's door, and then walks around the car, and gets in. He busies himself with his seat belt, and then sits back, his hands on the steering wheel. "I thought that went rather well," he said.

"The memorial service went well, yes," Ruth replies, "but what were you doing back there with Adam?"

"What do you mean? I was trying to protect you."

"Harry, you acted like he'd caught us naked in bed. A little graciousness would have been nice. It took a lot for Adam to come out and say what he did."

"I suppose I did lay it on a bit thick."

"I know that you were trying to protect _us_, and you were keeping him at a safe distance, but really …... you were a bit ferocious."

"I was?"

Ruth nods.

"You've changed your tune," Harry stares ahead of him, through the windscreen.

"I have."

Ruth sighs, looking through the windscreen at Adam's car, as he leaves the car park.

"I suppose it's too early to go home," she says.

"Yes, it is too early, but that's where we're going."

"Your team will gossip about us, Harry."

"They're all going for a drink, so under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol, they'll soon have forgotten about us. Besides, anything spoken about me …... us …... out of our earshot is not important."

Ruth reaches across and strokes Harry's cheek with her fingertips. His expression immediately softens, his eyes glowing as he turns to look at her. He starts the car, and puts it in drive. "Whose home?"

"I don't much care."

Harry smiles as he guides his car out of the chapel car park. He is driving them to his house. It has been a difficult week, and he and Ruth need some time alone. As he sees it, they've earned an early minute or three.

* * *

_**A/N: Only an epilogue to go. Will be up soon.  
**_


	14. Epilogue

_**A/N This is the final bit of this. Thank you to all who have followed, read, and reviewed.**_

* * *

4 weeks later:

Ruth jerks awake, knowing from the empty bed beside her, that she's overslept. She checks her phone to find the alarm had been turned off, and that she has slept 15 minutes past her normal waking time.

Harry. Who else would think it a good idea for her to get some extra shut-eye?

No sooner has she realised that the day is Monday, and she has a pile of work waiting for her at Thames House, than she feels Harry's bulk dip the mattress beside her, and then his lips and nose nuzzle her neck, like the overgrown puppy he can often be. He smells wonderful – all freshly showered and shaven, his hair still wet, and smelling like citrus. Ruth turns towards him to see that he wears a bathrobe, but it is not tied, and so his naked body is on display.

"Have you no shame?" she mumbles, dragging herself out from under the duvet, and stumbling to the bathroom.

"None whatsoever," he calls after her.

By the time she has wee-ed and washed, and headed back to her bedroom, Harry has thrown his bathrobe over the end of the bed, and has shuffled down under the duvet.

"I dare you to get back under the duvet with me, and not be swayed by my nakedness."

Put like that, Ruth can hardly say no, but she knows what will happen, and it does. He is so warm, and he smells fresh and spicy, and his hands …... his hands have sentience, and they _know_ her body, as they skim lightly across her skin.

Of course, the minute she joins him under the duvet, her fate is sealed. She has no intention of batting away his hands – so skilled – or his feet – so warm – or his lips – insistent – and he quickly removes her top and knickers, and then it's his tongue which has her dancing to his particular tune. They both enjoy first-thing-in-the-morning sex. The Game is in not giving in to the will of the other, or more correctly, to _pretend_ that they are not giving in to the will of the other. This morning it is Ruth's turn to pretend that Harry's hands, his lips, his tongue, his fingers, are an annoying distraction, and that she'd rather be getting ready for work.

Of course she wouldn't. Who would? Since she'd first tasted Harry's mouth on her own, she cannot say no to him. Pretending to be disinterested, and then pretending to be won over by his kissing and touching, and the sliding of his fingers under her clothing, is the very best way for her day to begin.

They do this often …... the morning sex, before work …... when they really need to be on their way through the morning traffic. They'll arrive at work together, a little late, and their colleagues will ignore them, all the while checking their watches, wondering what could possibly have made their boss and his analyst _this_ late.

"Is it my imagination, or are they getting to work later and later?" Zaf had whispered to Jo, one morning when their section head and his analyst were both late for the morning briefing, which had begun without them.

Jo had turned to Zaf and frowned, her beautiful eyes framed by her eyebrows, drawn together angrily. "Say nothing," she whispered back. "Just. Say. Nothing."

"And here was I thinking that showering together saves time," Zaf added.

"You're thinking of saving water, Zaf, now say nothing more."

Jo had turned her back on him, smiling up at Adam.

On this morning, this Monday morning, Harry and Ruth are only a little late, so that by the time Harry enters his office, his desk phone is ringing.

"Bloody thing," he says to himself, just before he picks up the handset and answers, "Harry Pearce," and then listens to the voice at the other end. When the call ends, he hangs up, grabs the scarf he'd only just removed, and heads out of his office, and across the floor to Ruth's desk.

"There's no need to thank me, Ruth," he says quietly, while standing behind her.

"For what?" she answers, not even looking at him.

"For making you sleep in, and then …..." Harry leans closer to her, and whispers into her ear, "ensuring we'd be fashionably late for work."

"Whatever are you talking about?" Ruth has turned to face him, her forehead wrinkled in a frown.

Harry steps back from Ruth then, noticing Adam, Zaf and Ros entering the Grid from the tea room. "There was a suicide at your tube station, and had I not been sleeping over, and had we not …... you know …... well, you might have been a witness. But I have to go."

"Why? You're not a cop."

"The person who threw themselves under a train was the head of security at Cotterdam Prison. There are suspicious circumstances. Some say it wasn't suicide."

Ruth's expression immediately changes from doubt to one of concern. "Do you need me, Harry?"

"Yes, I need you," he whispers, again leaning closer. "I always need you, but not this time. I thought you had a pile of work to do."

"I do. I just thought …..."

Harry has successfully tucked his scarf under the collar of his coat, and he stands, watching Ruth. "You'd best stay here …. where it's warm. I'll ring you when I know more." Harry turns to the others, who are pretending to be busy. "Zaf? Are you busy?"

Zaf shakes his head. "Not especially."

"Then you can come with me. Briefing will be held later, when I come back."

Harry turns once more to Ruth, and offers her a small smile.

"Go," she says, returning his smile. What a gentle man her Harry is. "I'll still be here when you get back. In fact, I'll always be here. For you."

Ruth's last two words are whispered, so that only Harry can hear. He turns from her, and is joined by Zaf, and both men leave the Grid.

Ruth has a large carry-over of work from the previous week, but she'd rather be in the warmth of the Grid than outside, where the morning air is crisp, and the wind as sharp as a knife edge. She'd rather still be in bed with Harry, but if that's not possible, then the Grid is a good second best. But best of all, she no longer has to pretend ... about anything at all.


End file.
